


All the things we never thought we wanted..

by toewsyourheart



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Cold and Distant, Confusion, Desperation, Difficult Decisions, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Girl Kane, Hot and Cold, Kid Fic, Kids, Love, M/M, Miscarriage, Tension, moving in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pat and Jonathan lean on each other to get through an unexpected loss. this is a story about grief, and a love solid enough to help you out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Time Will Tell...

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, Pat is a girl. Jonathan is still a Blackhawk and Pat is a psychiatrist in Chicago. 
> 
> They've gone through an unexpected early miscarriage, and this story is basically Pat warring with herself over being upset and trying to move on with Jon, who is literally doing everything he can to try and help her just feel better...

Pat had been at her desk for all of forty-five minutes, diligently taking notes _on her notes_ from last Friday's most complicated therapy session, when she heard her office door click open. Pat's head was down, and her long, blonde curls were draped in front of her face, blocking her view of who had just come in. Luckily, she didn't have to look up to know who it was. Even if Pat had been expecting someone—which she wasn't, since she's not even supposed to be in the office today—there was only one person who would come in without knocking. 

_God, fucking betrayed by Janeen_. She was sure Jonathan should still be at morning skate, not here in the doorway of Pat's office, fidgeting (if Pat had to guess), and preparing to convince her to leave. Theoretically, Pat should have had around three hours before Jon got home at his normal time and realized she was gone, but here he is—and _there’s no avoiding this now_ , Pat thinks.

She probably should have seen this coming, though, judging by the concerned look Janeen had thrown at her when she walked in. Pat flicks her eyes down to the less-than-professional sweats she's wearing and concedes to the fact that, yes, she does look like hell, but calling Jonathan to snitch was a bold move. The thought crosses Pat’s mind that Jon must have deliberately kept his phone on the bench and _on loud_. She internally rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath, not lifting her head, but stilling the hand on her pen. 

Janeen doesn't know what happened. What she _does_ know, however, is that Pat isn't supposed to be here. On Monday when they got home from the hospital, Jonathan had called the office and instructed her to cancel all of Pat's appointments for the week while Pat was "taking some time," as he suggested. Pat thinks he probably also "suggested" that Janeen call him should Pat show up at the office, not that he’d given Pat much alone time in which to escape anyway. Pat makes a mental note to remind Janeen that she is _Pat’s_ assistant, **not** Jon’s…

The things is, though... Pat _has_ "taken some time." She hadn't been to the office in six days, since Friday’s last appointment—the one whose notes she's reviewing now—and Pat just wanted to do normal things so she could hopefully start feeling normal again. It'd been three days since....well, since the day that put Pat— _and Jon too_ , Pat reminds herself—in this fucking situation to start with, and _that’s enough_ , Pat thinks. She lets out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. _Three days is enough. Time to get it together._

"Pat…” Jon says, finally breaking the silence. Another second passes, and Pat hears the door close. She looks up and discovers that yes, he’s fidgety. “Jonathan…” Pat replies, trying to match his tone in a way that she knows will convey to him that she’s a little annoyed. 

He furrows his brows and scrubs his hand across the back of his neck, eyes intense. Pat leans back, looking away to give him a once-over. He’s wearing sweats too, and his hair is still damp. He also looks slightly out of breath. Pat pictures him rushing to shower and leaving the UC in a tizzy after hearing from Janeen. _Because he loves you…even after,_ Pat thinks, and the direction of her thoughts makes her shudder and shake her head to dispel them. _Of course he does. Get it together_ , she repeats to herself. She looks back at Jon and tries to muster a smile of some sort to diffuse the situation. The corner of his mouth turns up only slightly in return but the look of concern doesn’t leave his eyes, so Pat’s attempts must have been weaker than she thought.

Jonathan sighs, running a hand through his hair, and then drops his arm back down to his side like it weighs a hundred pounds. Pat feels a twinge of guilt for coming here after agreeing to take the week, for making Jon worry so much he felt he needed to come after her. But she also knows the reason he’s here stems partly from his inability to leave Pat alone when he knows she’s upset—with him or otherwise. Pat had tried to convince him that she’s okay, that getting back to work was the best thing for her. It’s not that she wants to be at work, per se. Pat just finds it easier to focus on other people's issues than to deal with her own right now. Well, maybe not _easier_ since she's still carrying around that tightness in her chest, but better...better to work, to do something useful than to sit at Jonathan’s mansion all day, alone with her thoughts.

Jon finally moves to walk around the desk and come stand behind her. He places his hands tentatively on her shoulders, and Pat can feel the tension radiating off of him. Pat’s aware that Jonathan doesn’t know how to handle this. Pat is usually pretty open with her feelings, quick to express what’s going on in her head and easy to read, especially for Jon. But this has been different, and Jon’s out of his element here. He can’t read Pat’s cold, distant mood, and she knows that he’s probably driving himself insane, waiting for her to react… She hasn’t allowed herself to cry, and she doesn’t feel she’s entitled to, really. This thing has stirred up so many emotions in Pat—a lot of them unnamed—that she’s shut down instead, fighting like to hell to keep those feelings from swallowing her whole. So things have been a little…tense…to say the least—neither of them knowing exactly how to navigate the situation. Jon waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Pat tries to make sure the other shoe _never_ drops. Pat wants to scream—wants to be as close to Jon as possible and as far away from him as possible. Who knew losing something you were never aware you wanted—the opposite actually, something you explicitly said you _didn’t_ want—would cause such a shit storm. 

“Babe…” Jon says hesitantly, squeezing Pat’s shoulders. She doesn’t say anything, so he clears his throat and goes on. “What are you doing here? You should be at home."

 “And you should be at the UC, so we’re even, I guess,” Pat replies, a little more venomous than she intends. _This isn’t Jon’s fault. Get it together_ , she thinks, again.

“No,” Jon says, sounding steadier than before, like this is something he’s sure of. “I should be wherever you need me.”

“But I don’t need you right now,” Pat groans, and she hears Jon’s quiet intake of breath and feels his grip on her shoulders ease, like he’s moving to let go.

_Fuck._ Everything Pat says is wrong. She drops her pen and jerks her hand up to cover Jon’s on her shoulder, half turning to look back at him. “Wait, shit— _here_ , Jon, I meant I don’t need you _here_ in this office right now. But I do need you, of course I do…” and Pat trails off, not sure where to go from there, and drops her hand back down to her lap.

“Do you, though?” Jon says, almost too quietly for Pat to hear.

Pat moves to spin her chair around and Jon lets her shoulders go, backing up to get out of the way. He sighs again and turns to grab another chair from the corner. It makes one of those awful, spine-chilling noises as he drags it over in front of Pat. “Sorry,” Jon apologizes, and then sits down. She leans over and puts her hand on his knee, squeezing lightly.

“Of course I need you, Jonathan, c’mon,” Pat starts. “I’m just trying to…move on and be normal.”

“God, Pat, this is not normal…” he whines, and Pat understands. She hasn’t been tal—“You won’t talk to me—I can’t stand it!” Jon continues, echoing Pat’s interrupted train of thought. He waits a second and then adds quietly, “It’s been three days, Pat…I’ve never seen you like this…” His resolve is clearly beginning to crack, and Pat could say the same thing to him—she’s never seen him this way either, so unsure and unsteady. She squeezes his knee again and he reaches down to take her hand in both of his own.

She lowers her eyes and answers, “Because I’ve never _been_ like this, Jon. I don’t…I…I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“I know…” he says, and reaches out with one hand to cup Pat’s face just the way she likes best, with his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck and his thumb sweeping lightly over her cheek. She looks up at him as he steels and continues, “I just wish you would let me help you, let me take some of this—” He pauses briefly like he doesn’t know what word is safe to use to describe what he thinks Pat is feeling. “—that you’re carrying around. But you just…you’ve shut me out.” He looks away, his eyes getting red, and Pat knows that this conversation has to end right now. She is not going to lose it here in this office.

“What excuse did you give Q for leaving in the middle of morning skate?” Pat asks, changing the subject and leaning away to get some distance from him.

Jonathan lets out a long, drawn-out breath and leans back too, running both hands through his hair. _He’s getting more and more fed up with you by the second,_ Pat thinks.

“Pat—” Jon starts, then closes his mouth, letting his hands fall down to his thighs with a smack. Looking defeated, he continues on, “I just told him that I…that I needed to go—that I needed to be with you.”

“So you told him about th—the baby then?” Pat stutters out, and _fuck_. Jonathan’s eyes go wide. It’s the first time he’s heard her actually use that word. _Baby._

He starts to answer, “I—uh—I didn’t, I mean…I didn’t think you’d…” and then stops, visibly trying to regain his composure after hearing Pat refer to the—their baby—the one they didn’t even know existed—didn’t even want—before the moment they were finding out they had lost it. He clears his throat and finishes, “No, I didn’t tell him about the…baby. It’s none of his business. None of anyone’s business but ours. 

“You’re right,” Pat answers simply, trying to put a halt to that conversation, even though she knows she’s the one who started it. “Liste—” she tries to continue just as Jon is saying, “Pat,” again, his voice sounding so small, so unsure, so unlike him…

“Jon, no, c’mon, listen…” Pat goes on, “You have a game tonight, an—” Jon starts to interrupt her again—probably to say some variation of “I’ll miss it if I have to,” when Pat holds up a hand to stop him and continues, “God, listen…you have a game tonight. Go to your place—”

“ _Our_ place _,_ ” Jon interrupts again, and shit, he just can’t stop.

“Fine,” Pat concedes quickly, letting Jon have this one even though she hasn’t officially moved in yet and still has her apartment across town. “Go to _our_ place, and I swear I’ll finish up here in twenty minutes and be back in time to take your pre-game nap with you…and tonight, after, we’ll talk.”

“You want to talk?” he asks, clearly skeptical. 

 “No, I don’t want to, but we—I, we need to,” Pat says. Jonathan relaxes a bit and lets out another long breath. Pat is glad she was able to make him feel a little better before things surely get worse tonight.

“Okay, yeah,” he says, and goes to stand. She gets up too and they both walk around her desk towards the door. He grabs the handle then turns back to her. “Twenty minutes,” he says, pointing at her to add seriously, “I _will_ come back.”

_No kidding_ , Pat thinks, but only smirks at him in response. He lets go of the handle—that intense look returning to his face—and takes a tentative step toward her. Then, so quickly Pat doesn’t see it coming, Jonathan grabs the back of her neck and pulls her forward, crushing his lips to her forehead, and Pat almost lets out a sob at the emotion she can feel running through him. Pat brings her hands up to touch him—one grabbing the outstretched arm Jon’s using to hold her neck, the other fisting in his shirt at his side. Jon lowers his forehead down to hers and they stand there, frozen for a minute, breathing deeply. 

“I love you,” Jon says. “So much.” And Pat can feel the absolute truth in his words.

“I love you too, Jon,” Pat answers. “Now go, and let me get on with my twenty minutes.”

Jon smiles softly, and says, “Okay, I’ll see you soon,” leaving just as he came, and Pat stares at the door for a few seconds after it has closed behind him. She tries to shake off all the heavy feelings from Jon’s visit and walks back over to her desk, plopping down to pick up her pen again and finish up what little work she can in her allotted time.

* * *

 

As she’s leaving the office, she shoots Janeen a look, and Janeen just ducks her eyes in response, looking guilty. “I’ll see you Monday,” Pat says, and Janeen responds, “Oh, uh—okay, Ms. Kane. And I’m, uh, sorry about that. He—” and Pat holds up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay, Janeen. I am aware that he’s impossible. Don’t worry about it. Have a good weekend.” And Pat goes…

It isn’t until she reaches the parking lot, though, that Pat fully understands just how impossible Jonathan really is. Because he is still here, leaned against the side of her car, and _my god_ , he really can’t leave her alone, can he?

Pat stops in her tracks when their eyes meet. She raises an eyebrow and Jon looks away… He’s…embarrassed, maybe? He’s not good at this either—being vulnerable—and that’s how his inability to be away from Pat when she’s upset makes him feel—open and exposed. Pat gets it.

So, instead of giving him shit, she just walks up and presses herself against his chest arms wrapping around his waist. His arms come up around her automatically, and he squeezes her tight, like he’s trying to hold them both together. She breathes in deeply, and though she hasn’t been sure of much lately—certainly not her feelings about the…baby…about what happened—Pat knows in that moment that she is sure of Jonathan, sure of this—that he loves her. Everything else, they’ll figure out...together, starting with their talk tonight.

 “Let’s go home,” Pat says. And they do…


	2. Setback by the Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jonny bombards Pat in her office and before his game that night......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter 1 end refresher)
> 
> Pat stops in her tracks when their eyes meet. She raises an eyebrow and Jon looks away… He’s…embarrassed, maybe? He’s not good at this either—being vulnerable—and that’s how his inability to be away from Pat when she’s upset makes him feel—open and exposed. Pat gets it. 
> 
> So, instead of giving him shit, she just walks up and presses herself against his chest arms wrapping around his waist. His arms come up around her automatically, and he squeezes her tight, like he’s trying to hold them both together. She breathes in deeply, and though she hasn’t been sure of much lately—certainly not her feelings about the…baby…about what happened—Pat knows in that moment that she is sure of Jonathan, sure of this—that he loves her. Everything else, they’ll figure out...together, starting with their talk tonight. 
> 
> “Let’s go home,” Pat says. And they do…

As they pull out of the lot, Jon reaches over to grip Pat’s thigh, and she allows herself to relax, feeling some of the tension drain from her body. She turns on some music and closes her eyes, letting her head fall back against the headrest, and focuses on Jonny’s steadying hand on her. He’s exuding a confident sort of calmness right now, and Pat knows it’s because he thinks he’s won this…whatever this was—getting her to leave the office. He had also suggested that Pat ride with him—said she could get her car later, and Pat honestly hopes he doesn’t think she’s not aware of what’s going on here.

She opens her eyes after a minute, having gotten lost in how good being alone like this with Jon feels, and looks over at him, just watching. He catches her staring out of the corner of his eye and grins a little, and even though things are shit right now, Pat’s fondness for him is momentarily paralyzing. His grin starts to turn smug after a minute though, still flying high on his double victory, Pat assumes. (triple victory if you count Pat’s agreeing to talk after the game tonight). _Time to shatter this illusion_ , she thinks. 

“I know your game here, Toews. Don’t think you’re slick,” Pat says, nonchalant. He ducks his head a little and squeezes her thigh.

“Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, trying to sound innocent.

“If my car is at the office, I can’t go anywhere. Clever of you, but just know that _I_ let it happen,” Pat says, and reaches down to slip her hand around Jon’s on her thigh. “It’s okay, though,” she continues, “I like when you drive me…” 

“And I like when you let me,” he says quietly, then turns his hand over and laces their fingers together. He brings their hands up and brushes his lips over the back of hers, and it sends a shiver down Pat’s spine. He drops their hands down to his lap, and Pat rubs her thumb soothingly against his, letting her eyes close again.

The rest of the drive is quiet, aside from the soft hum of the radio. Pat’s not sure what it was—getting out of the house today or the fact that she feels she and Jon are getting somewhere, maybe both—but she feels better, lighter. Like maybe normal isn’t quite as far away as she thinks…

* * *

 

 

When they finally get to Jon’s, Pat kicks off her shoes and walks towards the kitchen while Jon throws his bags down in the laundry room.

“Protein shake or fruit smoothie?” Pat asks, opening the cabinet to pull out the blender and set it on the counter.

He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, hooking his chin over her shoulder. “I can get it, babe. Go relax,” he says.

“I know you can get it, Jonny,” Pat huffs, “but I want to.” Pat rarely gets to be at home when he does his afternoon pre-game routine because of work, and she likes being able to help him prepare when she can, in whatever way she can. “You’re the one who has to hockey tonight,” Pat continues, “so you should be relaxing too.”

He pauses for a second, considering, and eventually says, “Fruit smoothie _with_ the banana protein powder, I think.” He kisses her temple and lets go, moving to settle in at the bar to watch her as she moves to the fridge to gather ingredients.

“Can do, Captain,” Pat says, bending down to grab the strawberries. When she turns back around and meets his eyes, he’s smiling big—the first real smile she’s seen from him in days. _Which is mostly your fault_ , Pat reminds herself, then shakes the thought away, not wanting to ruin the surprisingly decent mood she’s in.

She makes the smoothie quickly and slides it across the counter to him. He turns the glass slowly, like he’s inspecting it, and then takes a drink. “It’s good. Really good,” he says. “Thanks, Pat.”

“No problem—maybe you should hire me full-time. Only eighty bucks an hour…” Pat says distractedly, her attention landing on the blinking light of the answering machine on the desk behind Jon. “You’ve got a message,” Pat says, nodding in the direction of the phone.

“Well, let’s hear it,” he says, getting up to walk over and press the button, still smiling and holding his smoothie. “Probably my mom.”

The machine beeps and a somewhat familiar voice begins:

“Ms. Kane…? This is Dr. Connolly, the therapist at Chicago Women’s Hospital. You have two contact numbers on file, and I don’t know which one is your primary, so I’ve called both… I just wanted to check in…see how you’re doing. I know losses like this can take a toll, and I was hoping you’d come by to—”

“Turn it off,” Pat snaps and makes a move to walk over and do it herself. Jon quickly presses the button, silencing Dr. Connolly. Suddenly all the tension is back, and Pat regrets having put Jonathan’s home phone down on her patient forms.

Pat stops and places a hand on the counter to steady herself. She takes a deep breath and looks up, and Jonny is just staring at her, again, waiting for her to react.

“Drink your smoothie, and let’s go to sleep,” Pat says, trying to avoid whatever conversation is about to result from playing that message.

“She wants you to come in for therapy?” Jon asks, ignoring her attempt to divert him. 

“Seems like that’s what she was getting to, huh?” Pat answers.

“And you don’t think that’s a good idea?”

“No, Jonathan, I don’t. Right now the only good idea I can think of is going upstairs and taking a nap,” Pat snaps back, voice dripping with agitation. She turns and walks towards the stairs, leaving him standing in the kitchen.

She goes into Jon’s bedroom and starts stripping out of her sweats, leaving only her panties and sports bra. She climbs onto Jon’s giant bed and settles in. Closing her eyes, she thinks of the awful turn this afternoon has taken after it was seemingly headed in better direction, and waits for Jonathan to join her.

Just as Pat is starting to doze off, she feels the bed dip beside her. Jon presses himself in behind and wraps his arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on her belly. Pat has to squeeze her eyes shut to stop the tears from coming…

“I’m sorry,” Jon starts. He pulls her hair back off her neck with his other hand and presses his lips to the space below her ear.  

“For what?” Pat asks, yawning.

“Always pushing even when I can tell you don’t want me to,” Jon answers, voice sounding small again.

“I know you’re just trying to help,” Pat says. “It’s okay…”

“I just want us—want you—to be okay,” he continues.

“We are okay, Jonny,” Pat responds quickly, “And I will be…”

He doesn’t say anything else—just kisses her neck again and tightens his arm around her—and they both drift off to sleep.

* * *

 

Pat wakes up to a kiss on her forehead and knows Jon must be leaving for the UC. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

“S’okay,” Pat says groggily, rolling over on her back to stretch a little. “Done sleeping now.” She opens her eyes to look at Jon standing over her, and he looks tense. (Surprise, surprise).

“Think you’ll make it to the game?” he finally asks, lowering his eyes, and there it is. Of course he wouldn’t want to ask something of her right now. Pat hasn’t missed a home game since she and Jon started dating, but after what’s happened…Pat doesn’t know if she can face the wives and girlfriends—doesn’t want their pity right now.

“I’m not—I don’t know, Jon,” Pat says. “I want to—you know I hate missing your games, but I don’t really want to have to—I just can’t be around that many people right now, okay?”

His face falls slightly, _fuck,_ and he quickly says, “Yeah, no, it’s okay. Don’t—don’t worry about it. You can just watch from here…” he trails off. “I’ll still leave the ticket, obviously, in case you change your mind." 

“Okay, Jon,” Pat answers, reaching out to grab his hand. Pat hates disappointing him, but she just really doesn’t think she can handle being there right now. Chaunette has already texted her about ten times in the last two days, and Pat just…can’t. Not yet.

“I’ll see you when I get home, yeah? And we’ll talk…?” he asks hesitantly.

Pat sighs and says, “Yeah, Jonny, we’ll talk. And good luck tonight. Score all the goals for me.”

“Will do,” he says, bending down to kiss her forehead again. “Love you,” he whispers, and turns to leave. 

“Love you more,” she says back, watching him go. He closes the door behind him and, even though she said she was done sleeping, Pat dozes off again.

When she finally wakes, she looks over at the alarm clock—only 6:30. An hour before puck drop. She picks up her phone and sees that she has three texts from Jon.

‘Hope you’re sleeping well. Leaving a 100-level ticket for you at the box. Not up with everyone else in the suite.’ (5:15 PM)

‘Don’t feel obligated to use it. Just wanted to give you another option. No pressure.’ (5:18 PM) 

Then, from a bit later: ‘Guess you are sleeping well… Love you.’ (5:56 PM)

 _You can do this for him_ , Pat thinks, running a hand through her hair. She wars with herself for another ten minutes, but eventually gets up and drags on some real clothes. She picks up her phone again—this time to call a cab to take her to the United Center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to work through where I want to go next....But here's this anyway.


	3. So Deeply in Love With Every Face I've Shown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game and after.

When Pat arrives at the UC, she goes to claim her ticket at the box—a 100-level just like Jonny said. She muscles her way through the crowd, stopping to grab a beer before going to take her seat. _Because you can have beer, because you’re not_ — _Shit, stop_ , Pat thinks. _Not here._ That’s really Pat’s biggest problem—little thoughts like that hopping into her head and setting her back a little from any progress she thinks she’s made, reminding her that things aren’t the same…that she’s lost something—that _they’ve_ lost something.

Her seat is on the side opposite of the player benches, and as she walks down, she looks around for Jon. They’ve just taken the ice again, only a few minutes left until the anthem and puck drop. She finally spots him in the corner, looking towards the crowd—towards her seat, she thinks—and Pat feels guilty again. Jon is supposed to be thinking about hockey right now, but there he is, worried about whether or not she’s going to show up. She tries to hurry, so maybe he’ll see her before he looks away. When she gets to the seat and their eyes meet, he gives her the biggest, eye-crinkling smile and then ducks his head, looking shy.

 _So glad I came_ , Pat thinks and she smiles back, breathing a sigh of relief when she sees the tension melt from Jon as he goes on with his warm-up. He skates over in her direction to bump into Brent in front of the penalty box. They’re close enough that Pat can read Jonny’s lips when he looks to Brent and says, “She came.” Pat nearly dies, her breath catching in her chest; it’s the fondness again—what has she done to deserve him? She doesn’t know what Brent says in response, only sees him put Jon in a headlock, and it makes her giggle a little. _So glad I came_ , Pat repeats to herself. _So glad._

 

* * *

 

 

Pat’s waiting for Jonathan by his car in the parking garage—afraid she’d see someone she’d have to talk to if she waited inside. The boys had won it 4-3 in OT, and after a game like Jonny had, Pat’s only got her mind on seeing him, anyway. The game, whew, _god_ , it was really something. Good hockey always gets Pat excited, but good hockey from Jonny gets her feeling…something else. He had played like a man possessed, flying high, putting on a show for Pat, and when he scored his second goal of the night—the overtime game-winner on a breakaway— _Fuck,_ all she wanted in that moment was to get her hands, her mouth, whatever, on him.

That’s still all she wants, all she can think about as she waits in the lot, bouncing around on adrenaline and nervousness and _need_. Jonny’s hockey gets her hot, no other way to put it. Not to mention the fact that they haven’t had sex in almost a full calendar week—Pat’s not even sure Jonathan has kissed her on her actual mouth since Monday. Granted, she hadn’t exactly been in the mood lately, so soon after th—the miscarriage; Pat knows she needs to practice saying the word to herself, so she can eventually say it out loud when she has to. She was a bit timid when Jon would try to touch her at first, feeling _off_ and undesirable. This is now, though, and she is _on_ and _goddamnit, this will end tonight,_ Pat thinks.

She’s desperately thinking of how to convince Jonathan to postpone their talk until tomorrow and just fuck her on every available surface in his house tonight instead, when he finally comes out and starts walking her way. He holds his arms out like, ‘here I am,’ and says, “You wanted all the goals, baby, you got ‘em!” still walking forward and smiling brightly, looking a bit cocky. And _fuckkkkkk_ , it might be easier to convince him than Pat thought, but just to be safe—because she knows Jon and his one-track mind—she decides to start priming him now.

She quickly heads his direction—trying hard not to run, honestly—and says, “You’re fucking right, I did, Jonny. Want something else now,” throwing herself in his arms and crushing their lips together. And yes, definitely the first time they’ve actually kissed since Monday (god, why…) Jonny drops his bag and groans, a bit thrown off, reaching up to fist his hand in Pat’s hair, deepening the kiss. She can feel that his desperation matches her own as he brings his other hand to the small of her back and hauls her in even closer. Pat wants to jump up, wrap her legs around his waist, and just go right here. However, they are in public, and Jonathan has a captainly image to uphold, so she backs off a little. She doesn’t want him to get confused about her intentions here, though, so she deliberately runs her hands down his back and grabs two handfuls of his ass, pulling him in closer, and then letting go as she leans her head back to look at him.

His eyes widen a bit, but he seems to shake back and remember where they are as well, glancing around a little. He looks a bit apprehensive when he meets her gaze again and then smirks, probably beginning to realize what Pat’s game is. He rests his forehead against hers, both hands on her hips now.

“Glad you came?” he asks.

“Of course,” Pat responds immediately, clutching his arms. “You were—” she pulls back and searches his face for a second, trying to think of the right word. She ends up going for something obvious. “—shit, unbelievable. _So good_ ,” she says, squeezing his arms for emphasis.  

Jonny’s cheeks get red and he lowers his eyes, “Ah, c’mon,” he says—always Captain Humble, here… 

“Hey, I mean it,” Pat continues, poking him in the side. She loves excessively praising him; 1) because it’s funny watching him stutter around compliments and 2) because she needs him to know just how good he is, because he _is._

“Thanks,” he says, kissing her again, lightly this time. “You ready to go? We’ve got things to do.”

“Yep,” Pat says, hoping to God he means go home and finish what they've started here, but judging by his suddenly serious tone as he finished that sentence, she knows she’s not going to be that lucky.

 

The car ride is tense—the opposite of the one they’d taken from Pat’s office earlier today. She starts things up again when she knows they’re about two minutes away from Jon’s house. She reaches over to trail her hand up the inside of his thigh, and she sees him tense up a bit, but he doesn’t stop her. _Hmm_ , she thinks, applying more pressure, and she can feel his dick beginning to harden through the material of his pants.

She knows he’s probably already wound up from the win, from her coming on strong in the parking garage, and she’s feeling better and better about her chances until…. Jonny reaches down and grabs her hand. He laces their fingers together and brings them over to Pat’s lap, away from all the action, and starts to turn in the driveway.

Pat huffs out a quiet, “fuck,” under her breath just as Jonathan is saying, “I think you’re getting a bit distracted here, eh?”

“No,” Pat whines, “I think you are.” She pauses, wondering how hard she should go here. “I want you. I’m not distracted at all.” She looks over at him, waiting.

Jonny doesn’t say anything, just rubs her thumb with his as he parks the car. Pat starts to panic a little—his silence making her question whether or not… “I mean, unless you don’t—” … _want me,_ Pat thinks, unable to get the words out. She knows she’s probably overacting, but she feels sick all of a sudden—insecure—and begins to pull her hand out of his.

He jerks the car in park and turns in his seat to face her, “No way, Pat, don’t think that for a second. That’s not what this is about.” He lets go of her hand and grabs the back of her neck, willing her to look at him. When she does, he goes on, “You just promised me we’d talk when we got here—and I think that’s what’s most important right now. I just want you to be okay, and I don’t—I don’t want you to do anything you’re not…not ready for,” he stutters out, then continues, “But don’t ever think I don’t want you. I always want you, Pat…” He trails off quietly. He searches her face and then pulls her forward, kissing her hard. 

Pat immediately clings to him as best she can from the passenger seat, but intentionally doesn’t put her all into it, knowing they have to do this now or he’ll just keep interrupting her attempts to seduce him once they get inside, and _he’s right_ , she thinks, reluctantly. _You promised._ “Okay, okay,” she says against his lips, starting to get worked up again, and pushes him away gently. She kicks off her shoes and turns sideways in the seat, pulling her feet up. “Now. Let’s do this now,” she says.

“In the car?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, in the car. And if we’re going to do this, we have to do it in sessions or something—that’s how I operate. And I’m only up for…a ten minute one right now, Jonny, okay?” she finishes, as business-like as she can manage, trying to calm down the part of her that’s still just ready to get Jonny inside.

He smirks at her a little. “All business, now, eh, Dr. Kane?” He’s trying to tease her, but she knows he appreciates it. He’s probably already thinking of how many sessions he can get her to do between now and when the team travels again on Tuesday. “I agree to your terms,” he says.

“Good,” she says. “Because when we get inside, I’m done talking, alright? I know you’re worried about me or whatever, but I’m not confused about this,” she says, nodding in his direction to indicate the _situation_ between them.

“Uh, gotcha,” he says, taking in a shaky breath and chewing on his bottom lip a little bit. He closes his eyes, and she knows he’s thinking about it. But then he shakes his head, huffing loudly, and she sees the captain in him take over. He looks up at her, steady now.

“Okay, ten minutes…Go,” Pat says, pointing at him.

“Okay,” he says, “What made you decide to come to the game?” _Starting with something easy_ , Pat thinks. _Great_. Maybe her mood will survive this. She reaches across and grabs for his hand, needing him to at least be touching her. He takes it immediately, waiting for an answer. She decides that straightforward is the best approach here. 

“Because I hate not being there, Jon. I haven’t missed a home game since we started this thing, and your games are important to you—they’re important to me, and I wanted to be there. You’ve been so supportive when I know…know that you’re hurting too, you know?” She pauses, feeling the emotions welling up in her chest, then goes on, “I knew that was something I could do for you. You’ve been so patient with me…”

“But you know I would have understood, right? If you had still decided to stay home?” he asks. “I know you don’t like missing games, but I would never want you to put any extra stress on yourself trying to do something to make _me_ feel better right now. You feeling better makes me feel better,” he finishes, ducking his head a little towards the end.

“And it did make me feel better,” she says, squeezing his hand. “You probably knew it would, that’s why you left a different ticket, even after I said I wasn’t going to come.” He flinches, and Pat pauses for a second, trying to figure out his angle with these questions. “Why are you wasting your ten minutes on this?” she finally asks. “I figured you’d want to get to the…root of the matter,” she says, trailing off.

“No,” he says. “And that’s the point—I don’t want to _push_ you, Pat. That’s why I asked—I was making sure you didn’t feel like I pushed you into coming to the game when you didn’t want to. Just like I’m not going to push you to talk about your feelings about the…the baby until you’re ready.” 

Pat sucks in a breath and he continues, “I just want to figure out how to help you best, Pat. And you do seem better after today…? he says, sounding helpless and more like he’s asking. “You do feel better, yeah?” he says, actually asking this time.

She nods her head encouragingly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Good,” he continues, on a roll now. “I know this isn’t going to be some magic process, Pat, but I just want to be able to help you as you—as we—work through this… Not make things worse without knowing it by being pushy. So I was just trying to see if I had done something that worked—whatever it was that got you to come.” He looks up at her, brows furrowed.

Pat’s eyes soften, tears threatening to spill down her face at how intense, how sincere he looks. She reaches over and uses her thumb to rub between his eyebrows, trying get him to relax, and cradles his face in her hand. She steadies herself and says, “I came because I love you, because I love watching you play. I didn’t feel pressured by anything you did—you were just being there like you always are. I wasn’t okay with the suite, so you gave me another option. You’re just trying to help, Jon, and know that you _are_ helping me.” She steals a quick glance at the clock—it’s been six minutes.

“Plus,” she continues, stopping him as he starts to respond, “I couldn’t resist the 100-level seats,” she jokes, and he huffs out a breath and smiles in response, some of the tension leaving his face, just like Pat wanted.

Pat has an idea suddenly—thinks of something else she can do for Jon, something that might help them both, if she’s being totally honest. “I have a proposition,” she says, all business again.

“Go on,” he says, sounding interested.

“Let’s call this session now and we’ll do the next one—thirty minutes—with Dr. Connelly. I can call her first thing in the morning, maybe she can see us Saturday…?”

Jon’s mouth drops open a little and his eyes widen, and Pat knows without a doubt that he’s going to agree to this, so she climbs over the console and into his lap, straddling his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He runs his hands up and down her back, and Pat shivers, impatient to get inside again. “Could you answer me, please? You’ve only got two minutes anyway and we’ve got things to do,” she says. She presses her forehead to his and starts grinding down in his lap a bit, not playing fair, obviously, but this has gone far enough.

He stifles a groan. “Okay, you win,” he says, jerking the keys from the ignition and wrapping his right arm tightly around her waist. He slings the car door open with the other and just. gets. out. Pat wraps her legs around him, and _fuck this is so hot_ , Pat thinks, all the want from earlier flooding back. 

He pushes her up against the car after he gets the door closed and stops, searching Pat’s face, and says, “You’re calling Dr. Connolly tomorrow, yeah? You want to do this?”

“Yes,” she says, squeezing her thighs around his waist.

“Alright, deal.” he says and lifts her off the car, walking quickly towards the house, fiddling with the keys in his other hand. She kisses him hard, making him fumble a bit when he goes to unlock the door.

“Shit,” he says against Pat’s lips. He turns his head away to focus on the lock, and Pat just uses that opportunity to start in on his neck—kissing hungrily down the bit of his chest she can get to since he’s got that obscene, unbuttoned look going tonight. He groans again and throws the door open, shutting it behind them and locking it back—because he’s responsible.

He kicks off his shoes and carries Pat straight upstairs, not putting her down until he tosses her back onto his bed. He rips his jacket off and looks at her, searching her face again. “Good talk?” he asks, undoing his belt and dropping his pants.

“Great talk, Jon,” Pat responds quickly, giving him a once-over. She pulls her shirt over her head and throws it to the floor then. Getting impatient again, she knee-walks towards the edge of the bed and makes grabby hands at his shirt. “C’mere. Let me,” she says.

“You mean that?” he says, before stepping forward, still worrying about her, as always.

“Of course, Jon, I love you so fucking much, please get over here, _god_ , I need you," Pat whines, sounding pained. And that does it. Jonathan moves quickly then, grabbing her hard and crushing their mouths together.

They don’t string together any words that resemble conversation again for a while.

 

* * *

 

 

When they’ve finished having arguably the best sex of Pat’s entire life, they just lie there together for a while, still not saying anything. Pat’s head is on Jon’s chest, their legs tangled together, and he traces patterns along her shoulder with the arm he’s got wrapped tightly around her.

Pat can only think of one more thing she wants to say to Jonathan before they go to sleep.

“I’m going to sell my apartment,” she whispers. Jon stills his hand her shoulder.

“Okay,” he says, squeezing her so tightly, and he leans his head forward to kiss her hair. “I’ll call my realtor tomorrow…after you call Dr. Connelly.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Toews,” she says, kissing his chest, “but you got it.” Jonny reaches over and turns off the light, content to let that be the end of it.

Right before Pat dozes off, she recalls a thought she’d had earlier and decides she was right—normal, or something even better, isn’t as far away as Pat thinks at all. As long as Jonny is here, she knows she’ll be fine, and she settles into the best night’s sleep she’s had in a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what yall think about this one.. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to amandaj for reading these chapters for me first, and letting me know that they don't suck before I post them on the internets.


	4. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning/day after Jon's game and Pat's revelation about selling her apartment, leading up to their therapy session the next day. Featuring deep conversation, deep-dish, and a little deep-throating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long, so I apologize for that, I suppose. 
> 
> Also, translations in the end notes.

When Pat opens her eyes the next morning, she sees a shirtless Jonny sitting up in bed next to her, computer in his lap. _Probably listing my apartment already_ , Pat thinks and smirks a little, trying not to move too much. Jonny’s left hand is tangled in her curls, lightly scratching her scalp, and it feels so good—Pat just wants to enjoy it for a minute longer. She has no idea how it didn’t wake her up sooner because now that she’s conscious, she can feel the light touch of his fingers resonating _everywhere_.

Then Pat feels her stomach cramp, just a dull ache, like it has every morning this week. It’s milder though, better. The doctor said it was normal, so she’s not worried—but she definitely hasn’t mentioned it to Jon either, no way. _Another reminder,_ Pat thinks, not liking the dark direction her thoughts are headed. So she pushes it down, ignores it—like she’s done so much lately—and tries to focus on Jonny’s hand in her hair, get her mind back here with him—where things are better.

She squirms a little, uncomfortable now, and scoots closer to Jonny. She wraps her arms around him and ducks her head into his stomach, basically trying to wedge herself between him and whatever he’s doing on that laptop, making grunty morning-sounds the whole way.

“Well, good morning,” Jonny says, and Pat can hear the smile in his voice without having to see it on his face. It improves her mood immediately. He sets the computer on the floor and gathers Pat in his arms, keeping his hand in her hair, still scratching her scalp. “You feelin’ okay?” he whispers and bends down to kiss her hair. 

“Mhmm. ’Chu doin’ on that thing so early, Jon?” Pat mumbles, half on top of him now.

“Well, it’s 10:30, so I don’t know if ‘early’ qualifies,” he teases, avoiding her question.

“Ha!” Pat snorts, poking him in the ribs. “I can do without your sass, Toews,” she says, and he smacks her ass in return. He lets his hand linger, running the tips of his fingers right under the elastic of her panties. _Hmm, better take advantage_ , Pat thinks.

She lets out a ‘ _mmmmm’_ and tries to get closer, squeezing him tighter. “Had a late night. Gimme a break,” she goes on, lightly biting his stomach then laying a wet kiss there right after.  

“Don’t start something we can’t finish,” Jonny mutters, as Pat starts kissing her way up his stomach, indeed trying to start something. She hears his quiet intake of breath when she nips him with her teeth again.

“Why. can’t. we?” she says between kisses. She’s straddling him now and her lips have made it as far as his chest. He grabs her arms and hauls her up to his mouth, kissing her once, hard, and then pulls back too soon. Pat groans.

“Because,” he says, smirking at her. “I have to leave for practice soon and _you_ have a phone call to make.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pat responds with an eye roll. “Define soon.”

“In other news…” he starts, ignoring her. Pat can tell he’s trying to sound nonchalant. “Last night you said you were moving in with me. You mean that?” He betrays his casual tone by pulling her to him again, like he can’t seem to help it after saying those words out loud. She’s still straddling him, up on her knees, and Jon lifts his head to press his lips to her jaw, waiting for an answer.

Pat wraps her arms around his neck, trying to keep his mouth on her. “Ehhhh, I remember saying I was selling my apartment, but…” she says playfully, pressing herself against him.

“Same thing, yeah?” he mouths against her chest, placing a kiss to the hollow of her throat and running his hands up her back. “You haven’t slept at that apartment in two months—not even when I’m on the road. You _live_ here.”

Pat turns her head a little to give him more access, and he kisses his way up her neck. He grazes her earlobe with his teeth and then lays a kiss on the skin beneath, making Pat shiver. 

“Now who’s starting something, eh?” Pat pants out. _Shit_. She digs her nails into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

“Say it,” he groans, still mouthing along her neck.

“Huh?” Pat says, confused for a second because she can’t think when he does this and… _oh—_ she gets it now. Leave it to Jonny to be getting off on thinking about Pat finally agreeing to move in…or does he really need the confirmation here?

Pat pulls back and takes his face in her hands. She rubs along his jaw a bit then sinks her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging a little. “Yeah, Jon,” she says, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth softly. “I _live_ here,” she murmurs, feeling a little shy. She leans back to look at him and presses her fingers in firmly, massaging soft circles into his neck.

His eyes soften. “Okay,” he says, still a little wary, and gives Pat a small smile that makes her so weak. 

Then he grabs her wrists, bringing her hands down, and reaches out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. He pulls her into his chest, wrapping her tightly in his arms, and they just sit there for a minute, quiet.

“I have a confession,” Jonny finally says, sounding a little anxious. Pat just waits for him to continue, rubbing his back for encouragement. “I’ve already been shopping your apartment around for the last month or so,” he mumbles into her hair. “Got Darling lined up to lease—if you’re, uh, sure, you know…and okay with that, obviously.”

Because _of course_. Pat thinks of him avoiding her question about what he was doing earlier and laughs. “So let me guess,” she chuckles out, “you were drafting a rental agreement on that computer, huh?”

“No!” he says, immediately, then finishes quietly, “Not drafting…reading—my realtor sent one this morning.”

“You’re unbelievable—it’s like I can read your mind,” Pat jokes, sitting up to meet his eyes. He looks nervous now—probably worried he’s overstepped his boundaries—and Pat doesn’t like it, doesn’t want him to feel that way. “Hey, what is it?” she asks, nudging him a little. She reaches up to brush his hair back, searching his eyes.

“You do want this, right?” he asks. “I’m not…I mean, I don’t want to push—”

“Jonny, c’mon,” Pat cuts him off. “’Course I want this. You said it yourself, I basically live here already.”

“I know _I_ said that, but…” he trails off, ducking his eyes and sounding so insecure that it makes Pat’s heart ache.

“But, nothing,” Pat starts, taking his face in her hands again. He’s always such a steady, sure presence at her side she sometimes forgets that he needs to hear these things too—be assured that Pat’s _in_ this, especially after the uncertainty that’s come with their loss. 

“Look at me, baby,” she says, stroking his cheek. When he meets her eyes, she goes on, “You’ve never once asked me to sell my apartment. I brought it up on my own because I know I don’t need it anymore. It’s not—it’s not home, Jon, you are. I—I’m yours, wherever you are is my home,” she trails off quietly. Being vulnerable like this isn’t Pat’s forte—Jon’s either—but she’d suffer almost anything to rid him of the uncertainty he seems to feel now.

“You mean that?” he asks, and Pat’s heart starts to beat faster. They haven’t explicitly talked about their future—still aren’t _explicitly_ talking about it, per se—but this is a big conversation…

“With everything I’ve got,” she says honestly. Jonny is it for her—she knows it. She won’t say it now, but she knows…

“Welcome home, then,” he says, smiling that small, shy smile again. He leans forward, pressing his lips to hers, and kisses her slowly, letting them both feel it. When he pulls away, Pat is dizzy with it. He puts his lips to her forehead and says, “I love you, Pat,” against her skin.

“Love you more, Jonny,” she says back.

“And you’re okay with leasing?” he asks, and Pat huffs out a laugh at the subject change, knowing he must need to leave for practice soon. 

“Yeah, of course, whatever you think. I trust you—leasing is a good idea. We can talk about it when you get home this afternoon. Thank you for taking care of this—of me,” she finishes quietly. Pat’s never _needed_ anybody, and as terrifying as it is to admit it, she knows she can’t do this—any of it—without him. Doesn’t want to. _Hopefully will never have to_ , Pat thinks, and smiles.

“Always,” he assures her, voice sincere, steadier now. He kisses her nose, and then says, “Your phone is over there,” nodding toward the nightstand, effectively ruining the moment.

“Yeah, thanks,” Pat says dryly, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

He pokes her lightly in the side, urging her on. She would tell him not to be so pushy, but that’s obviously a sensitive subject. And she’d agreed to this—suggested it herself, actually, so now she has to follow through. “Alright, alright, I’ll call,” she says. He looks satisfied, so she rolls off of him, reaches for her phone, and googles the number to Dr. Connelly’s office.

 

* * *

 

 

Pat wakes when she hears the front door close, stretching out from her curled-up position on the couch. She had dozed off during a movie while Jon was gone to practice; he had left while she was calling Dr. Connelly’s office—kissed her forehead and mouthed ‘be back around 3’ just as the receptionist was picking up. After she got off the phone, she tried to get a little work done, made a call to Janeen to discuss her schedule for the upcoming week, and then settled in to watch some Netflix—which didn’t last long, apparently.

She drags out a yawn and looks up at the clock: 4:30. He must have gotten held up. “Pat..?” she hears him call from the kitchen.

“Yeah, ‘n here,” she mumbles and rubs her eyes, still half asleep. She sits up and looks toward the doorway where she expects Jonny to make his appearance. “How was practi—” she starts, freezing when he walks in, eyeing the brown sack in his hand, mouth falling open a little. He gives her a smug grin and leans against the doorframe.

“ _Jon_. What you got there?” she says, nodding towards the sack, wide awake now. She can practically smell it already…

“Oh, I think you know,” he says coolly.

“ _Pizzeria Due?_ ” He nods, and Pat beams at him.

God, Pat’s favorite deep-dish in Chicago. What has she done to deserve him? “Four cheese and pesto?” she asks, scrambling up off the couch.

“Absolutely,” he says, holding up the sack and shaking it a little.

“Jesus, you are a fucking saint, Jonathan,” she says, walking quickly towards him. He smiles his eye-crinkling ‘I’ve won this day’ smile at her, and she can’t even argue, because he has, in fact, won this day. Just as she gets to him, though, he steps forward and brings the sack around behind his back so she can’t get it.

“Don’t toy with me, Toews,” she says, pouting at him.

“Did you make an appointment for tomorrow?” he asks. _Oh, I see_ , Pat thinks. This is reward pizza.

“Yesss, I diiid,” she whines, bouncing around like a child. “10:30 tomorrow. C’mon, gimmeeee.”

“Alright, alright. Only one more thing,” he says and reaches up with his other hand to tap a finger against his lips. His wordless request is clear, and Pat’s happy to oblige. She throws her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and crushes their mouths together. Pat’s super turned on all of a sudden, but that’ll have to wait because _the pizza_ is getting cold.

She pulls back and reaches around him for the sack, smiling when he gives it up. “I’ll do more than kiss you when I’m done here,” Pat promises. She kisses his cheek and scurries to the kitchen, Jonny following her close behind.

 

They eat next to each other quietly at the bar, aside from some small talk about practice and what they each did this afternoon. Blackhawks TV shot another “What’s Your Goal?” thing today, Jonny tells her, and he had stuck around after practice to meet the kid’s family. Pat tells him about her conversation with Dr. Connelly—or Jennifer as she’d asked Pat to call her; she’d agreed to meet with them tomorrow as a favor to Pat, even though her office is technically closed.

“Nice of her,” Jonny says. _Yeah, or something_ , Pat thinks, but doesn’t say it. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t get good vibes from Dr. Connelly and is more than a little nervous about tomorrow—could just be that Pat knows she’s going to have to talk about things she’s not interested in talking about, though. _The point of therapy_ , Pat thinks and internally rolls her eyes at herself. She does this for a living—she can endure being the subject of a session for Jon, for them both.

“Thanks for feeding me, babe. This is _so_ good,” Pat says, changing the subject. She reaches over and grabs Jonny’s hand, squeezing once.

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles around a mouthful of deep-dish pepperoni and looks over to smile at her softly. They finish their pizza in silence.

  

When they’re done, Pat starts cleaning the kitchen a bit, wrapping up leftovers to put in the fridge. Jonny tries to help her, but he brought dinner (her favorite pizza, for God’s sake) and has earned the right not to, so she shoos him to the living room. “Pick a movie or something, yeah?” she says. “I’ll be done in a minute.” He kisses her cheek, smacks her ass playfully, and goes without fuss, which is surprising; he’s always trying to be so helpful and whatnot.

Pat joins him when she’s finished, walking right over to where he’s sitting on the couch. She stops right in his line of sight and turns to face him, blocking his view of the TV where he’s looking at some silly gangster movie that Pat will probably just have to veto in a minute. But first…

“Heyyy,” he says, trying to look around her.

“Hey yourself,” she says back, and her tone makes him look up immediately. Pat licks her lips and then chews on the bottom one a bit, knowing how that drives Jonny nuts. He stares at her mouth and his eyes darken. When he meets her eyes again, she drops to her knees in front of him.

Pat’s eyes never leave his as she drags her hands slowly up his thighs, not stopping until they reach the elastic of his sweats. She bends her head down to nuzzle between his legs, and he spreads them out for her a little. She mouths at his dick through his pants, feels him start to harden up, and she hears him choke out an “oh god,”—so into this already. And that just gets Pat more into it, into making Jonny feel good.

“Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” she murmurs, tugging at his waistband. “C’mon, up,” she says, and tugs again. He gets with the program, lifting his hips to help her out, and she pulls his sweats and boxers down and off in a single, swift motion, tossing them to the side. She reaches forward to push his shirt up, wants to be able to see his abs tighten under her touch. “Gonna make this good for you, baby,” she says, running her hands up and down his legs, massaging the tops of his thighs.

“Fuuuck,” he says, hands coming down on either side of her to grip the couch. “’S always good, Pat.”

He leans his head back against the cushions, and Pat hears him stifle a moan as she starts leaving biting kisses up the inside of his right thigh. She takes her time with it, trying to get him worked up, and starts in on the other when she’s completed her trail up the right.

His hips jerk a little when she runs her nose along the crease between his hip and thigh, dragging her tongue along behind it. She leans up over his dick, which is practically begging for attention at this point, and presses a wet kiss to his stomach before doing the same down the other side. “Jesus, fuck,” he says, knuckles going white with how hard he’s gripping the cushions. He doesn’t rush her though—he likes this, knows Pat’s going to take care of him.

She reaches between his legs to loosely grip his cock, feeling it twitch in her hand, and lifts it a bit so she can bend down to mouth at his balls. He doesn’t try to fight his moan this time, and Pat is so hot for it. “Yeah, Jonny, let me hear you,” she says, surprising herself even with how vocal she’s being, and takes his balls, first one then the other, into her mouth, gently sucking. 

“God, Pat, ‘s so good,” he says, smacking his hand against the couch. “Look at you,” he gasps. He drops his head back to the cushions again and pushes up with his feet, lifting his hips a little, like he can’t help it.

Pat decides it’s time to stop torturing him and get to the good stuff. She lets go and leans up, kissing his stomach once more, right below his belly button, and drags her tongue from there down to the base of his dick. She takes him in her hand again, harder this time, and jacks him slowly, once, twice, from base to tip, and uses her thumb to work his foreskin over the head. He moans again, louder this time.

“Watch,” she demands, and stills all movement until he lifts his head to look down at her. His pupils are blown black, his breathing heavy. She flicks her eyes to his stomach, sees his abs contract and loosen under her gaze and— _god,_ he’s the most beautiful thing Pat’s ever seen.

She retracts his foreskin and plants a kiss to the tip, dripping with precome, and hears him whimper. “ _Christ_ ,” he chokes out, as Pat starts enthusiastically licking at the head of his dick. She bends down and runs her tongue along the underside, from base to tip again, and then takes him by surprise when she takes his cock in her mouth, all the way down, until he hits the back of her throat.

His hips jerk up, kind of hard, and Pat lets out little whine. “Shit, sorry,” he apologizes, and Pat rolls her eyes, lets him know she’s _not_ sorry by really going for it, hollowing her cheeks and getting a rhythm going—taking him deep, tightening her lips on the shaft, and then swirling her tongue around the head before sinking back down. “Fuck, fuck, _fuuuck,_ ” he chants, sounding a bit hysterical, and reaches forward to move her hair out of the way, tangling one hand in her curls and running the other down her back as far as he can reach.

She uses her teeth on the next upstroke, grazing them _so_ lightly along his shaft, and he bucks his hips again, tightening his hand in her hair and smacking the couch again. “Ahhhhh, oh god, Pat,” he pants, lost in it, his control fraying a bit, and Pat knows, _knows_ he wants to let go and just fuck her mouth right now. Fuck, and she wants that too.

She doesn’t stop moving, just looks up at him knowingly and reaches to push her hands between his ass and the couch, grabbing and squeezing, to urge him forward. “Yeah?” he asks, eyes going wide. Pat answers by backing off a little to give him room to move and nodding her head once—he gets it.

“Shit, Pat, shit,” he cries out, gripping her hair tighter, knowing she doesn’t mind if he gets a little rough, and really goes for it. He fucks up into her mouth over and over until Pat’s moaning around his dick and her eyes are watering.

It isn’t long before she hears him whine, “’M gonna—I’m ‘bout to come,” his breathing harsh. He tries to pull Pat off, not sure if she’s into swallowing right now, she guesses, and she just squeezes his ass again, pulling him towards her, his cock hitting the back of her throat again, and that’s it. He’s coming down her throat in hot spurts, hips arching up off the couch, and she works to take it all, sucking him through it.

He collapses back, letting his arms flop down to his sides as Pat pulls off, and says, “Jesus fucking Christ, Pat, if I had known bringing you pizza…” he huffs out, trying to catch his breath, and Pat laughs. “Shit, get up here,” he says and leans forward to grab her arms and haul her up. She straddles his lap and he kisses her hard, and she’s the one who’s breathless when he finally pulls away. “Fuck, that was…amazing,” he says, resting his forehead against hers.

“You earned it, baby,” she says, voice sounding used, a little raspy.

“What do you want?” he asks, running his hands up and down her arms, searching her face. _Shit, for you to fuck me_ , Pat thinks, but he’ll need some recovery time for that.

So she just smiles and says, “For you to hold me on this couch while we watch the movie you picked out.”

“I think I can do that,” he answers, smiling shyly at her. She kisses him again, and then hops up to go grab a glass of water, tossing him his boxers and sweats from the floor on her way.

When she walks back in, Jonny’s clothed again, and he has a blanket over his lap, turned up at one side for Pat get under. She huddles in close, head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her, kisses her forehead, and presses play.

 

* * *

  

They’re halfway through the movie, which actually isn’t that bad, when Jon’s phone starts vibrating on the coffee table. Pat leans up and looks over. “Going to get that?” she asks.

“Guess I should at least see who it is, huh?” he says, pausing the movie and grabbing his phone. “My mom,” he says, sounding fond and kind of irritated all at once.

“Talk to her, Jon. It’s fine,” Pat says, and wraps her arms around his waist.

He answers and says, “Salut, maman.” Pat loves listening to Jonny speak French. They launch into a conversation, and Pat drifts in and out, picking up phrases here and there, but otherwise she’s not paying attention—just gets lost in Jon’s voice. Then she feels him tense beneath her and feels his gaze on her. There’s an edge to his voice now.

“Elle est trés bien, maman,” he answers. Pat hears Mrs. Andrée responding, and then he says curtly, “Oui, je vais lui dire.” He ends the conversation quickly after that and tosses the phone to the other end of the couch, huffing out a breath.

“What was that about?” Pat asks, turning to look up at him. 

“Nothing, she just—asked how you are. Told me to tell you that she’s thinking of you and—” he pauses.

“And?” Pat urges, feeling sick to her stomach all of a sudden. She knows where this is going. Pat should have expected Jon would have told Mrs. Andrée about the baby. _God, Mrs. Andrée,_ Pat thinks and winces, trying to pull away. She doesn’t want to think about what Jon’s _mom_ thinks about it. Can’t think about it, so she starts to shut down.

“Don’t, Pat,” Jon says, pulling her back to him; he can surely feel her closing herself off from him. “She just—she just said she’s _sorry_ , is all…wants you to know she’s thinking of us.”

“Jonny, I—” she starts, voice trembling, trying to push it down. She tries to pull away again, needs to sit up and breathe. He lets her go this time.

“What is it, baby? Talk to me,” he says. “We’ve been doing so well, I thought..? Right? Don’t—don’t shut me out,” he pleads with her quietly, taking her hand. 

Pat takes a deep breath and tries to explain why she’s upset without losing it. “It’s just…I—I know she would have been so—so excited, Jonny…so happy, if..” Pat stutters out, unable to finish that sentence aloud. “God,” she huffs out, leaning over and taking her face in her hands, tears threatening to spill.

“Oh, Pat,” Jonny chokes out, sounding pained. He rubs her back and puts his hand on her thigh, crowding in as close as Pat will allow him to. “Don’t even think about that—I love my mom, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t give two shits about how she feels right now, and you shouldn’t either—this isn’t about her. This is about _you_ , about us…”

“I just—I feel so, guilty, Jon, about everything—I’ve never....” she says, and chokes back a sob, still managing to hold the tears in. She can’t cry—won’t. She steels herself, digs her hands into her eyes and turns to look at Jon. “Can we just—can we go upstairs? I just want you to hold me and forget about it… I—I didn’t sign up for a session today, Jon, please…” Pat begs, knowing he won’t deny her anything when she’s this upset, and she doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. She’s more _together_ than the hysterics she hears threatening her control.

Jonny looks absolutely helpless. “Yes, Pat," he blurts out quickly. "Whatever you want—whatever I can do,” he says sincerely.  

He gets up quickly to grab Pat under her thighs and lift her. She wraps her arms and legs around him, and he carries her upstairs. He whispers in her ear the whole way, telling her that everything is going to be okay—that he loves her so much, will do whatever she needs. Pat just squeezes him tighter, feeling a hopelessness in her gut that she hasn’t felt in days.

They get to up to his—to _their_ bedroom, and Jonny just holds her for the longest time, rubbing soothingly up and down her arms, sides—anywhere he can get his hands. When she’s calmed down, he makes love to her—no other way to describe it. Pat had said she just wanted to be close to him, to feel something other than _this_ … And Jonny had taken her face, kissed her softly, and Pat clung to him.

She loses herself in the tenderness and care he shows her, pushing into her gently, slowly grinding his hips—taking care of her like only he knows how. Pat’s orgasm wrecks her, and she sobs out his name as she comes. She tells him how much she loves him back, how much she needed this—needs _him_ —and then he’s coming too, a moan ripping out from deep in his chest. When his breathing settles, he pushes her hair back, and kisses her forehead. He takes care of some clean up and pulls her into his chest when he gets back in bed. Just as he’s dozing off, he mumbles, “Love you, Pat,” into her hair.

“Love you more, Jonny,” she says back, barely above a whisper. She lies there with him, trying to relax the pit in her stomach. If a comment from Jon’s mom did this to her, how will she ever begin to handle tomorrow…? _Going to be a long day_ , Pat thinks. She takes in a shaky breath, tries to sync her breathing with Jon’s, and forces herself to get some sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Salut, maman.” : “Hi, mom.”  
> “Elle est trés bien, maman,” : “She’s fine, mom.”  
> “Oui, je vais lui dire.” : “Yes, I’ll tell her”
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback is welcome & appreciated. 
> 
> Again, thanks to amandaj for reading these first. I would tag her here, but I don't even know if that's possible on this thing. ha. 
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this so far! 
> 
> Two more chapters to go!


	5. Riding the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded therapy session is here.  
> Features bathing, big questions, and a little betrayal.

Pat wakes with a jolt, feeling like the breath has been knocked out of her, and sits up, gasping for air. She’d been having a nightmare. She can’t remember the details now that she’s awake, just knows it was bad—knows that Jonny was— _Oh, god_ , she thinks. Her hand comes down next to her automatically, and she realizes he’s not there, only making her more hysterical. 

“Jonny!” she cries out, shocked at the desperation she hears in her own voice, but she just needs to see him. God, she feels so pathetic right now. Usually she wouldn’t be so affected by something like this, but after last night, Pats feels off balance, unstable. She drops her face into her hands, knowing she’s got to get a grip before they go see Dr. Connelly or she won’t make it out in one piece.

She hears Jon bounding up the stairs, probably taking them three at a time. _It was just a dream_ , she thinks to herself, and tries to steady her breathing.

“What is it, Pat?” he says as he flings the door open, a bit frantic himself. His eyes dart around the room, and Pat sees him relax a little when he realizes there’s no actual danger or anything—just Pat in a mound of blankets looking terrified. _And pathetic_ , Pat thinks.

He drags a hand through his hair and walks over to open the curtains a little, letting some light into the room, and then moves to her. He scrambles onto the bed and takes Pat in his arms—just what she wanted—and settles them back against the headboard. “You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs as he strokes her curls, cradles her face in his hand, and Pat feels some of the tension drain from her body, so relieved to have her hands on him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Pat whispers, guilty. “I just..had a bad dream, and you were gone, and I didn’t mean to sound so—I was just freaked out.” Then she stops, huffing out a breath, and ducks her head into his chest.

“Don’t apologize, Pat. I was just downstairs making coffee—was going to come wake you when it was ready,” he says, kissing her hair. Then he asks hesitantly, “You want to tell me about the dream?”

Pat winces. “I—I don’t remember it,” she stutters out, comforted by the fact that it’s only a half-lie. She feels him nod, and he doesn’t question her any further, just tightens his arms around her and says, “Well, it was just a dream—I’m here now.”

He holds her for a moment longer and then says, “You know..we don’t have to do this today, Pat. Not if you don’t want to—if you’re not ready.” Pat knows she must really look like she’s about to lose it, or else Jon wouldn’t be presenting an opportunity for her to back out. He was all about this, but he wouldn’t push it at Pat’s expense—especially not now. 

Pat takes a deep breath and considers taking the out, because she doesn’t _feel_ ready. But she’ll never feel ready for this, so she steels herself, pushes it down, and makes herself say, “No, it’s okay. I said I would, and I know it’ll—I’ll be okay if we still do it today.”

“Okay, but only if you’re sure,” he says, rubbing her back soothingly. She relaxes under his hands—she’s feeling better, more settled, already. He continues, “It’s 8:45 now. Want me to go grab you some coffee, and then you can shower, yeah?”

“ _We_ can shower?” Pat amends, hopeful. She loves showering with Jonny; he likes washing her hair, and it’s the best. She always feels relaxed and loved when she gets out.

“Mmm, ‘course, baby. Whatever you want.” He kisses her hair again, then says, “Let me go get your coffee.” 

“Eh, I don’t really want any, Jonny. I—I’m already—let’s just skip it for now, okay?” Pat says. She was _about_ to say she’s already too nervous about today—doesn’t need the caffeine adding to her jitters—but she decided against it. Plus, her stomach hurts, which she also omits—not sure if it’s the nerves or the morning ache again. Either way, no need to worry Jonny more than she already has.

“Alright, Pat. I’ll go start the shower,” he says, moving to get up.  

“Hey,” Pat says, clinging to him on instinct. “What’s your hurry?” Pat’s not ready to let him go just yet.

He chuckles and looks down at her. “Uh, to get in the shower with you...?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, as if that should be obvious.

“Oh, right,” Pat says, giggling a little, too. “Go ahead then.” He just kisses her forehead, and then gets up to head into the bathroom.

* * *

 

 

Pat joins him once she hears the water come on, walking straight over to grab at the hem of his shirt. She lifts it up and off, and runs her hands down his chest and stomach until she reaches his boxers, ridding him of those too. He leans in to kiss her softly, like he can’t help it, but there’s no urgency to it. They aren’t trying to take this anywhere—that’s not what this is about. He reaches forward to help her out of her t-shirt—Jonny’s actually, an old one from UND that Pat always steals out of his drawer—and tosses it to the floor.

“I love when you wear my clothes,” he admits, and opens the shower door for them to get in. Pat feels her cheeks flush, and she’s not sure why she’s feeling bashful. 

Once they’re in the shower, Pat just stands under the stream for a second, letting the hot water soothe her, before she reaches for the shampoo. “Let me,” Jonny says from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist. He kisses her shoulder softly and takes the bottle from her.

He guides her back to sit on the bench he’s got in this massive shower, and Pat can see that he has his game face on now. She knows he’s going to take over—do his best to help her relax—and that’s exactly why she wanted it. Being close to Jonny like this always makes her feel good, and he knows she needs to calm down before they go see Dr. Connelly.

He starts to wash her hair, digging his fingers into her scalp in all the right places. “Feels so good, Jonny,” she mumbles out.

She rests her hands on his hips and closes her eyes, trying to clear her head—to prepare herself for what she has to do today. When she’d made this agreement with Jonny, she had been in a better place; she was more in control then. Now, though, she feels like all the things she’s been holding in, been pushing down, are threatening the surface—like it’s just a matter of time before those feelings come rushing out. She can’t let it happen in that office. 

Jon detaches the showerhead to rinse her hair out, and the next thing she knows, he’s lathering up a washcloth and starts to wash her body. He’s careful, methodical with it—just like he is with everything—and Pat opens her eyes to watch him, gets lost in it.

He begins with her arms, rubs her shoulders a bit, and then scrubs down her back. He bends down to wash her legs, massaging the tense muscles there. He stands again, and whispers, “Up, Pat,” grabbing her hands and pulling her to her feet. He turns her around, her back to his front, and reaches around to wash between her legs. This is a first, sort of; they’ve definitely had sex in the shower before, and he’s washed her with the intent of getting her off, but this is different, feels different. It might be the most intimate thing they’ve ever done—the most vulnerable and most comfortable Pat’s ever felt all at once. His hands are steady, sure, and Pat lets her head fall back on his shoulder, feels the fondness for him well up in her chest.

He finishes and wraps an arm around her waist, holding her while he rinses off the soap. He hangs the showerhead back up and leans around to kiss her temple. “All done,” he murmurs against her skin, and reaches to turn the water off. 

“Hey, what about you?” Pat asks sleepily. She feels so much better, so relaxed—just like she knew she would. Now she wants to return the favor. Jonny’s probably a bundle of nerves too; he just won’t let Pat see that.

He stills, and she turns around in his arms. He looks like he doesn’t really want to answer her, but finally he mumbles out, “I’m good. I, uh, already took one before you woke up.”

“Jonny,” Pat says, feeling self-conscious and even more pathetic now that Jonny’s double showering for her benefit. “You didn’t have—” 

He cuts her off with a kiss, and then pulls back, resting his forehead against hers, and _Jesus_ , Pat loves him so much.

“Don’t, Pat,” he breathes out. “Just let me take care of you, okay?” He smoothes a hand over her hair, cups her face, and Pat just nods. He reaches back to grab the towel hanging over the shower door and wraps it around her then adds, “I’m going to make some breakfast while you’re getting ready. You want a smoothie?” 

“Sounds good,” she says and takes the towel from him. She secures it so her arms are free, and wraps herself around him, squeezing tight. She caresses his naked back and plants a kiss to his chest. “Thank you, baby,” she says. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anytime,” he says, kissing the top of her head. He reaches to grab his own towel and opens the shower door for Pat to get out.

Pat turns to smirk at him while he’s drying off and says, “You’re something else, Jon—you know that? You double-showered for me,” letting all the fondness she feels seep into her voice. He wraps the towel around his waist, and Pat lets her eyes drift over him. The way the towel’s hanging low on his hips. _Fuck_ , he looks good.

He looks at her seriously for a second, his eyes soft, and says quietly, “I’d do anything for you, Pat.” Then he chuckles and adds, “And that wasn’t exactly a hardship—would never turn you down for a shower, c’mon.” He smacks her ass playfully, ushering her out.

* * *

 

Pat gets ready in a daze and, before she knows it, they’re in the car headed to Dr. Connelly’s office. The panic has returned. She looks out the window and sips the smoothie Jon made her—green tea and banana, her favorite.

She’s having a hard time sitting still, worrying over what questions Dr. Connelly is going to ask them, her leg bouncing nervously. How far is she going to take this today? Finally, she feels Jonny’s hand come down on her leg to still it. She grabs it immediately, but doesn’t turn to look at him and he doesn’t say anything…

He finally breaks the silence as they’re pulling into the lot. “You ready?” he asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Pat answers, huffing out a breath.

They walk into the waiting room—it’s nice, very modern looking. A young man is sitting behind a chrome desk, MacBook in front of him—the receptionist? Dr. Connelly’s assistant? Pat doesn’t know. He greets them, “Good morning! Miss Patrice Kane?”

Pat cringes at hearing her full name spoken aloud—nobody calls her that except her mother. “Uh, yes, just Pat,” she corrects. “We’re here to see Dr. Connelly.”

“Right! I’m Tom. Right this way, Miss Kane,” he says, walking from behind the desk. “And Mr… _Oh my god_ , you’re Jonathan Toews,” he gasps when he finally focuses his attention on Jonny, his mouth dropping open.

“I am,” Jonny says, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Tom.” Always polite.

“Wow. N—nice to meet _you_ , man,” Tom says, a bit dazed, and then shakes his head, remembering what they’re doing here. “Right this way,” he adds and shuts up, finally.

Pat rolls her eyes, but she gets it. He’s a big deal in Chicago—a big deal period. Pat feels the swell of pride in her chest for Jon—for how good he is. She’s having a moment, and then Jonny ruins it. He’s following behind her, crowded in close, and Pat can feel his mouth by her hear. “Yes, right this way, _Miss Patrice_ ,” he whispers, teasing. Pat elbows him lightly in the gut, but otherwise doesn’t entertain it. She knows he’s just trying to distract her; he would never call her that in real life. He knows better. 

Tom ushers them into Dr. Connelly’s office and she stands to greet them, shaking hands with Pat, then Jon. “Thank you, Tom,” she says, dismissing him. Now they’re alone with her. She and Jon are seated on a small, leather couch across from Dr. Connelly— _Jennifer_ , Pat corrects—in her boss’s chair. Pat feels like she’s going to be sick. She takes a deep breath. _Only forty-five minutes_ , she thinks, _you can do this._

They exchange pleasantries, and Pat thanks her for seeing them on a Saturday. “It’s not a problem,” Jennifer answers. “I’m usually here working anyway—happy to do this for you.” She pauses then continues, “Let’s get started, shall we?” And Pat nods.

“Tell me how you are, Pat,” she begins.

_Interesting intro_ , Pat thinks. She’s trying not to psychoanalyze this whole thing, but it’s difficult—it’s her job for Christ’s sake. “I’m, uh, okay. Some things are...better than others,” she says, being intentionally vague. She glances over at Jon, reaching to take his hand and squeeze it lightly—wanting to assure him that he’s one of those _better_ things _,_ in case he’s doubting it. 

“I see,” Jennifer says and smiles. She spends the first fifteen minutes just asking them some general questions, trying to get them comfortable talking. Trying to acclimate Pat to answering the questions instead of asking them. Dr. Connelly already knows what Pat does obviously, so she questions Jonny—asks about his job, then asks about the team. Apparently she’s not into hockey _and_ lives under a rock here in Chicago.

She asks Pat if she’s been back to work yet, and Pat tells her about the hour she got in at the office the other day and how Jonny came to fetch her, smiling over at him fondly.

“How did you two meet?” she asks, changing the subject, and nods between the two of them.

Pat nudges Jonny—throws this one to him. “Uh,” he starts, hesitant. “A few seasons ago I went down for a bit with a concussion, and the team had me see someone.” He nods his head in Pat’s direction.

“He started bothering me for a date almost immediately,” Pat adds, smirking. It’s funny because that’s only half true.

What actually happened was that Jon had come to three hour-long sessions and Pat reported to the team that she thought he was okay, only recommended that he come back once a month until he could play again. But Jonny ended up coming in once or twice a week, every week for the next month, tiptoeing around asking her out until it was finally too much, and Pat took matters into her own hands. He walked in for his 3:00 one day, and she’d just looked at him and said ‘You know, Jon, the Hawks wouldn’t have to pay me $200 a week if we just did this at a restaurant or something.’ Pat remembers the shade of red his cheeks turned just like it was yesterday—‘Yeah?’ he’d said, shy, ducking his eyes. Pat might have loved him then.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonny says, face that same shade of red again. And it’s still funny.

“And you’ve been together how long?” Dr. Connelly asks, continuing the relationship-themed questions. This could be headed in a dangerous direction, but Pat doesn’t know how to stop it.

“A little over two years,” Pat says, nonchalant.

“Live together?” she prompts. 

“Yes,” Pat says, looking over again to see Jonny’s small smile. Dr. Connelly looks at him, too. 

“What’s that smile for, Mr. Toews?” Dr. Connelly asks, calling him out.

“It’s a new development,” he says quietly, then goes on, “Well, she’s only just decided to sell her apartment—officially move in, I guess.”

“Uh huh!” she says, pensive. “Well congratulations. That’s a big step. How’s that working out so far?” She looks at Pat, wants an answer from her for this one, obviously. 

“No different than normal,” Pat says. “I had basically been living there anyway.”

“So you would classify things as ‘normal’ right now, even after what’s happened? The two of you were trying to have a baby, yes?” she asks, unsure. _Shit, we’re going there_ , Pat thinks. She must make a face because Dr. Connelly continues, “Or no, then?” Pat swallows, feeling nauseous again. 

They didn’t even _know_ —of course they hadn’t been trying. They’ve only vaguely talked about children, never in the literal sense. Pat’s never wanted any—always been too focused on work, just like Jonny and hockey. Certainly neither of them is ready, but they would’ve—they would have made it work, _if_ … Pat thinks, and a knot rises in her throat. She only manages to choke part of that out to Dr. Connelly, feels herself shutting down. 

“Uh, I, sure, I guess. On the way to normal, anyway,” Pat says, idly wondering what time it is, how long they’ve been talking. Twenty-five minutes, at least. She continues, “And no, we—uh, weren’t trying. We didn’t even know when…” and Pat stops, the words clogging in her throat.

Jonny steps in. “We didn’t know she was pregnant,” he says. “Pat had felt a little strange, but didn’t think anything of it. Then Sunday night…”

“Please, Jon,” Pat interrupts, not wanting him to continue, and the rooms goes tense. That night had been traumatizing—she doesn’t want to hear him disclose the details with someone they barely even know. Jon insisting they go to the hospital when Pat had woken up bleeding all over the fucking place, freaking out. Then the shock of finding out they had lost _a baby_ they didn’t even know they were having… _God_. Pat fights the urge to get up and leave right then, totally done with this conversation—they won’t get anything else useful from her today. She can’t keep thinking about this, much less continue to talk about it.

“I was on birth control,” Pat continues, diverting the conversation a bit. “But my period is still irregular sometimes, so I didn’t think anything of it when I missed it—we’re always so careful.” Her voice gets small, and she shakes her head a bit, “I don’t know. It was stupid. I should have known—”

“Hey,” Jonny says, stopping that line of thought. “Don’t—there’s nothing you could have done. It just—it was just a terrible thing that happened, Pat.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Connelly steps in. “But that’s not to discount your feelings. Guilt is a typical response to something like this, Pat, and it’s important to work through that.” 

“I _know_ ,” Pat says, curtly.

“Yes, I understand you know the steps of recovery—that’s your job just as well as mine. You know how to help other people grieve, but this is about how _you’re_ actually dealing with things,” she says. “So I’ll say again,” she pauses. “Tell me how you are, Pat.” _She’s pretty good_ , Pat thinks. _Really brought her questioning full circle here_. Then her stomach sinks, because she has to figure out how to answer this question again without actually answering it. 

“I _am_ better,” Pat starts. “I’m dealing with it. I’m going back to work next week—Jon and I are good,” she pauses, not really knowing what else to say or where she’s going with this.

“Would you agree, Jonathan?” Dr. Connelly says looking to him. He looks hesitant to answer, like he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“I would agree that things are _better,_ yes,” he says, shrugging, like better is such a relative term for this situation. “She seems better when her mind is on something else, obviously. But I think she’s sad…” he trails off. 

_Are you sad, too, Jon?_ Pat thinks, but doesn’t ask. Of course he is. She has to stop this now. She steals a glance at her watch: 11:10. Only five minutes to go. Time to wrap this up.

Pat steels herself, puts on her business face, and cuts Dr. Connelly off just as she’s starting to respond to him. “Jonny’s been a big help to me, and we both understand this is a process, but things are better. When we get home, we’ll discuss whether or not we should come in to see you again, maybe next week. But I think I’m done here for today.” It’s a bit rude and abrupt, but Pat doesn’t care. And regardless of what she’s just said, she’s not coming here again. 

“Well, okay, Pat, I’ll respect your wishes here—our time is almost up anyway. But I do hope you’ll both come back to see me. I think it would be good for you,” Dr. Connelly says. _I’m sure you do_ , Pat thinks bitterly, standing to go. 

Pat looks at Jon, wondering why he’s not moving yet—she’s just said they’re done here. She looks to Dr. Connelly and says, “Jennifer, again, thank you for seeing us on a Saturday.” She extends her hand and Dr. Connelly takes it saying, “Again, not a problem. I hope to see you soon.”

“Jonny,” Pat says, looking at him. He’s looking at Dr. Connelly, tense—still hasn’t moved.

So Pat looks there too, wondering what the fuck is happening here. She feels so uncomfortable. What the fuck is he doing?

Dr. Connelly clears her throat to speak, but the voice she hears comes from Jonny next to her. “Would you mind, uh, giving us a minute, Pat?” he asks, voice quiet, but steady. “I want to speak with Dr. Connelly alone.”

Pat cocks her head to the side and looks at Jonny in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she chokes out, hurt.

He shakes his head, looking guilty already, and that’s enough to make Pat give him what he wants without a fuss…for now. Plus, she’s got to get out of this room before she loses it entirely. “Suurre,” Pat says, trying to convey her confusion by dragging the word out a bit. “Jennifer,” she says nodding in Dr. Connelly’s direction, not listening for an actual response. She turns on her heels and walks out, slamming the door behind her a bit. _Shit_.

 

She storms down the hall and checks out with Tom while Jonathan conducts his _secret_ meeting with Dr. Connelly. She’s finished before he is, so she goes to wait in the car. The entire time, which seems like an eternity, Pat’s brain frantically flies through the worst possible scenarios for what they could be talking about. He had wanted her to leave the room for God’s sake. _What’s he saying to her that he thinks he can’t say to me too?_ Pat wonders, growing more anxious by the minute.

It’s not that Pat doesn’t think he’s entitled to his own conversation with Dr. Connelly if he wants, but this whole time he’s been going on and on about them doing this _together._ How would Jon have felt if Pat had asked him to step out? _He would have kissed your fucking forehead and walked out—maybe quietly questioned you about it later_. Pat’s just arguing with herself now. God, but she knows she’s right. He’d give her what she wanted. Pat is able to calm down a little by assuring herself that whatever Jonathan is talking to Dr. Connelly about, it’s with Pat’s best interest in mind—if he didn’t think that, he wouldn’t be doing it. Pat takes a deep breath. _Gotta trust him_ , she thinks, but she still feels the hot sting of betrayal because he absolutely blindsided her with that shit.

Pat feels horrible, heated and raw from the session, and just wants to go home and sleep. She thinks of how close she was to losing it in there. She had allowed herself to think about too many things she’s been pushing down. If she talks to Jon right now, especially about what just happened…she can’t. She _won’t_.

Then she sees him walking out of the building towards the car in the rearview mirror, and her stomach drops again; this is one of the rare times seeing Jon has made her feel panicked instead of comforted. It’s not him, per se—she just can’t trust herself to hold it together and that scares her. It’s not a good feeling. She thinks of asking him to drive her to her car so she can go to her apartment—get some distance—but that would be a low blow. _Kind of like asking me to leave the fucking room_ , Pat thinks. 

He opens the door and gets in the car. He turns a little, facing her—his eyes are red. Pat seriously thinks she’s going to be sick, and she diverts her gaze, has to look away from him.

“Pat,” he says, sounding pained. “I—”

“Don’t, Jonathan,” Pat says, holding up a hand. “I can’t do this right now.” He doesn’t try to touch her, and Pat is grateful. He doesn’t say anything else either—just puts the car in reverse, backs out of the parking space—and neither does Pat, and she’s grateful for that too.

* * *

 

 

When they get home, Pat goes straight up to the bedroom, not giving Jonny a chance to confront her. And she feels guilty for it, but she shuts the door behind her and locks it. She needs to get herself together, uninterrupted, before they hash this out, so she climbs into bed, lays her head on Jonny’s pillow.

A minute later she hears him trying the door handle. Her stomach sinks when she thinks of him standing on the other side, locked out. The angry part of her sneers, _now you know how it feels_ , but God, she doesn’t mean that. She hates hurting Jon, knows that’s what she’s doing now, but she just _needs a minute._

Then Pat hears a thump against the door and the sound of Jonny sliding against it down to the floor, and she bites back a sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be the last chapter, but I lied. Only one more to go for real this time! 
> 
> Please, let me know what you think! Feedback is IMPORTANT. :) 
> 
> Hope you're enjoying so far!


	6. The Past Looks Better From Up Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home from the session and onward.  
> Features trying situations, tears, and a turn towards better.

Over an hour later, Pat comes to from an extremely unsatisfying nap—one of those where you wake wondering if you were even sleeping at all, like you were chasing it the entire time. The room is dark, blackout curtains she’d talked Jon into getting drawn tight, and Pat feels hot, sticky—like she’d been tossing and turning. She stares up at the ceiling for a second and tries to get ahold of her feelings. The pit in her stomach hasn’t gone away. Everything’s all jumbled up—anger, hurt, sadness, confusion—and her mind is running wild.

She keeps going over and over what they talked about in the session—can’t stop thinking about the baby. About Dr. Connelly asking if they were _trying_ … They weren’t trying, no, but would they ever? It’s not something Pat has ever wanted before, but everything is all twisted and confused inside of her now—this has changed things, knowing there was a baby—their baby.

She and Jon haven’t discussed it. They haven’t really discussed anything. _That’s the problem here, isn’t it?_ the psychiatrist in Pat thinks—that part of her can see it clearly. But Pat…she doesn’t know how to talk about it without also letting go of this _thing_ she’s built up inside of her—all she’s shoved down. Without letting the other shoe drop, the one Jon’s been waiting on this whole time.

Pat feels dizzy, shakes her head—trying to think about literally anything else.

 _Jonny_ … She wonders if he’s been sitting outside the door this entire time and has to take a deep breath. He’d definitely do something like that—sit there all day if that’s how long Pat kept herself locked in here—but he’d asked her to _leave the room_ at that fucking session. She still can’t believe it, can’t get over it. She has to know _why_. _What’s he keeping from me?_ Pat wonders, pained and angry.

She’s still hesitant to face him, honestly—afraid she’ll say something she doesn’t mean, direct more of her anger towards him because she’s fighting that _other shoe_. Jonny doesn’t deserve that, but he also doesn’t deserve the silent treatment. Pat knows that worse for him. He’s endured enough today, too, and he’s probably driving himself crazy on the other side of that door.

Pat rambles on in her head for another minute and then hauls herself up off the bed. Yes, she’s upset, but it doesn’t justify leaving him out there to torture himself forever. So it’s time for her to come out of this room, even if she’s not ready to talk just yet.

On her way to the door, she decides that she does actually want to go to her apartment; she hasn’t been there in days and needs to grab a few things, check the mailbox. She’ll ask Jonny to drive her so he doesn’t freak out, but she will require that they don’t speak until after they get back.

She stops and puts her head in close, trying to listen for him on the other side instead of just opening up immediately. She hears him having a muted conversation with someone, on the phone, she assumes. He sounds so…sad.

“I don’t know, man, she locked me out—it’s been like two fucking hours. I just wanted her to talk to me—now I—I’ve just made everything so much worse…” he whines, trailing off. Pat imagines his head in his hands, and her heart seizes. There’s a pause. Whoever he’s talking to—Seabs, maybe?—is responding, she guesses.

“Still sitting outside the door,” he mumbles, then says sharply, “Fuck you, Brent. What else do you expect me to do?”

She’s heard less than a minute of this conversation and it’s already too much—the pain in his voice is too much for her to listen to. Pat opens the door slowly and takes in the sight of Jonny on the floor. He’s leaned against the opposite wall, knees pulled up, shoulders sagged—he looks utterly defeated. His head snaps up immediately and he stares at Pat for a second, wide eyed. Then he just hangs up on Seabs and stands; he looks like he wants to take her in his arms, but he hesitates, taking a half step forward. “Pat,” he breathes, sounding so relieved that she’s come out, but so sad—it makes her heart ache.

The non-angry part of her wants to go to him, but she doesn’t trust herself not to cry, still so hurt. “I’m not ready to talk to you right now, Jon,” she mumbles. “I’m too—” _vulnerable, unstable_ , she pinches the bridge of her nose, “—I just can’t, not yet.” She drops her shoulders and turns to walk downstairs to get some water, her throat dry and scratchy.

Seeing him has only made her feel more like she’s going to cry. Time is running out on the wall she’s built, she can feel it—the other shoe. She needs to go _do_ something—focus on something else. Which is why she wants to make the trip to her apartment now. 

“Pat, I’m…” he starts, then trails off when Pat keeps walking. She hears his loud exhale and his footsteps on the stairs, and knows he won’t be far behind.

 

He’s standing helplessly in the doorway when Pat turns from the fridge with her glass of water. He’s got his eyes down, looks conflicted about something—like he can’t figure out if he should go somewhere else or come all the way in the kitchen. Tired of watching him struggle, Pat finally says, “Hey, I want you to drive me to my apartment. I—” Jonny’s head snaps up. ‘— _want to grab some things_ ,’ Pat’s about to say, but she’s shocked silent, taken aback by the terrified look on his face, then even more by what comes out of his mouth.

“Oh my god, you want to _leave_?” he blurts out, pained, jumping to the worst possible conclusion, too rattled to hold it in. He takes a step toward her. “Pat, please, I’m—”

“No!” Pat cuts him off, finding her voice. _Fuck no_ , she’s not _leaving_ him. She sets her water on the counter, shakes her hands in his direction to literally wave off that line of thought, trying to calm him. “I’m not leaving, Jonny, Jesus Christ, no! I want to go get some things. I’m just asking you to drive me!” Holy fuck, Pat wonders if he was thinking that the entire time he waited out there? She feels sick again, like she needs to sit down. She has to ask him, nip this in the bud.

“Jonathan, please, _please_ tell me you weren’t sitting outside that door even _considering_ the possibility that I was going to leave you.” Pat implores, wincing at the thought. She’s the one taking a step toward him now. 

He just brings his arms up, puts his palms to his forehead, and then drags his fingers back through his hair—looking so tired. “I don’t know,” he whispers, distraught, then huffs out, “I didn’t—I don’t know what I thought.” And Pat can’t take it another second. Angry or not, upset or not—Pat feels terrible for making him feel this way. God, he’s the only person she can’t do this without.

“Oh, baby, no,” she chokes out and closes the distance between them, throwing her arms around him fiercely. He hugs her back like his life depends on it, sobs out a breath against her hair.

“I’m angry with you, Jon, but I would _never_ just leave. _God_ , don’t ever think that. I could never leave you. I just wasn’t ready to talk yet. I just needed a minute—I still just need a minute,” Pat says frantically, burying her face in his neck, tears threatening to spill. _No_ , she thinks. She sniffs once, reels herself back in. “Now, will you drive me? We can talk when we get back, I swear. Just—I just need a little longer to get my shit together.”

“Yeah, Pat, ‘course I’ll drive you,” he breathes out, stepping away from her to get his keys. He grabs them off the counter and half-turns to look back at her before he opens the door. “Love you,” he whispers, hopeful, and Pat knows what he’s waiting for.

“Love _you_ _more_ , Jonny,” she answers with as much sincerity as she can squeeze into it, needing him to know it’s true no matter what. _That will never change_ , she thinks, but doesn’t say. She sees him nod his head a bit—maybe he heard her anyway.

 

* * *

  

“Do you need my help?” Jon asks quietly, putting the car in park. They’ve just pulled into the garage at her apartment—into Pat’s spot that’s been vacant for some time now.

“No, I’ll just be a minute,” she says, climbing out. She can practically feel his eyes on her as she walks to the elevator. Once she gets inside, she takes a couple deep breaths and hits the button for the lobby so she can stop and check her mailbox.

The doorman’s eyes go wide with excitement when he sees her. He’s an older guy, so great—has worked here for years. She used to talk to him every single day on her way out, brought him coffee sometimes. Pat sees him as a grandfather-ish figure, even more so now since she lost her grandfather the past year.

“Well, well, look who it is! Pat Kane!” he says, smiling brightly.

Pat offers him the best smile she can muster, but he can probably tell something’s wrong with her. “Hi, Frank—just stopping by to get a few things. How are you?” She opens her box—just a bunch of shit in there. Most of her important mail comes in at the office. She looks back to Frank. His face has fallen a bit. “I’m alright, Miss Kane—you alright? That hockey player treating you okay, I suppose?”

Pat laughs—he always acts like he can’t remember “that hockey player’s” name. “Jonathan, Frank,” she says fondly. “And of course he is, wouldn’t keep him around if he wasn’t, you know that—he’s in the car now. I’ll just be a minute up here—it was good to see you,” she says, waving to him and heading back to the elevator.

When she finally gets inside her apartment, she takes a minute to just look at the place. It’s just as she left it, but now it feels cold, uninviting—not like home—even though most of her stuff is still here. _Because it isn’t home_ , Pat thinks.

She packs up a duffle bag quickly, stuffing in clothes and whatever else it was she came for. She does one last sweep then gets ready to head out—doesn’t want to keep Jonny waiting too long or he’ll be in here after her. Just as she’s grabbing the handle, she sees the red light flashing on her answering machine by the door and can’t resist.

There are two messages, but she knows one of them is from Dr. Connelly—the same one she left on Jon’s machine. She decides to go for the second and presses the button; it’s from today. _Hmm_.

An annoyingly familiar voice says: “Miss Kane, this is Dr. Connelly—” Shit, this lady is persistent. _What does she want?_ Pat starts listening again. “—wanted to give you a call to apologize for what happened today. Not for speaking with Jonathan alone—we had a good talk, and I think it helped him—but for the fact that it was an unpleasant surprise for you.” _You mean he fucking waylaid me with it?_ Pat thinks, angry again. “As your therapist, I should be working to gain your trust, and what happened did not facilitate that. I—” Pat yanks cord from the wall, has heard enough. _Jennifer_ is not her _therapist_ and Pat doesn’t care about hearing an explanation from her—she wants one from Jonathan.

She goes for the handle again, but is interrupted once more—this time by the vibration of her phone in her pocket. She takes it out. _Mom._

Oh god, and the hits just. keep. coming. If she doesn’t answer, Pat knows she’ll just keep calling over and over again, so she picks up. 

“Mom, hi,” Pat breathes out, trying not to sound to agitated from the get-go here. 

“Patrice,” her mom starts, sounding relieved. “Honey, how are you? I can’t believe you answered on the first try.”

She ignores the jibe. “I’m okay—just getting some clothes and things together at the apartment,” Pat says, shifting the conversation to what she’s doing instead of how she is.

“What for? You’re taking a trip?” she asks suspiciously, like she knows some reason Pat shouldn’t be traveling—as if that were even the case. Pat always drives herself crazy trying to think ahead of her mom when they talk; here she is getting annoyed over an imaginary trip for Christ’s sake.

She decides to go ahead and tell her the truth, maybe distract her with this…“No, mom. I—I’m moving in with Jonathan. I’m just grabbing some things, then going back to his place—our place, I guess,” Pat corrects.

“I already knew that—I was just seeing if you’d tell me,” her mom replies, sounding a bit smug with a twinge of something else, something softer.

Goddamnit, Pat can’t ever win with this woman—how does she even know? Her mom continues, “I spoke with him, Pat, and are you okay?” Oh, _that’s_ how, Pat thinks, anger boiling to a solid 7. Jon is really trying her today…

“Wait,” Pat interrupts. “ _When_ did you talk to Jonathan?”

“Earlier today—what does it matter? Someone needed to. He told me about the—about what happened. Pat, I’m _so sorry_ , honey. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I don’t know why you di—”

“Mom, please, I can’t have this conversation with you—that’s why I haven’t called—I can’t have this conversation with anyone right now. And I’m on my way out the door here, got Jon waiting in the car. We’re..dealing with it. I will call you in a couple days, I swear,” Pat says sternly, interrupting her mom’s ramble with one of her own. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve just got enough shit going on right now.”

Her mother is unbelievable; Pat loves her—of course—but sometimes she’s too much, too overprotective. Pat hadn’t told her about the baby because she wasn’t ready, knew she’d want to fly in, and now Jonny has gone and done it for her. Pat feels her cheeks flush, getting even more heated. Jesus, he’s talking about Pat to everyone but Pat. _Because you keep locking yourself up_ , Psychiatrist Pat provides. God, and she knows they need to talk…got to stop putting it off. She feels sick again.

“Well you need to have it with Jonathan, Patrice,” her mother says, annoyingly echoing what Pat’s just thought herself, like she inspired it.

“I’m working on it, Mom. I’ll talk to you soon,” Pat says.

“Alright, Pat, but I’m not kidding—talk to him. He’s worried about you, just wants to help you, and so am I—so _do_ I. I could fly out..” she suggests, trailing off.

“Okay—I hear you, and that won’t be necessary,” Pat says. 

 "And Patrice?” she prompts.

“Yeah, mom?” Pat says, exasperated, huffing out a breath.

“I approve. He’s good for you,” her mother says matter of fact—always ready to provide her opinion, her evaluation of things.

Pat smiles a little, even though she _is_ angry.  “He is,” Pat agrees. “Love you.”

“Love you more, Patrice,” she replies. Pat feels herself settle a bit, then hangs up the phone.

 

Pat’s sort of fuming on the elevator ride down to the garage; takes that time to try and tamp down her anger a bit before she gets to the car. Probably would have helped to see Frank on her way out, but she didn’t have it in her to tell him the next time he sees her here, it’ll probably be when she comes back to move out completely. 

As soon as Pat steps into the lot, Jonny hops out of the car and walks over to grab the duffle bag from her. “Thanks,” Pat mumbles. _Always being helpful,_ Pat thinks bitterly. He’s been so _helpful_ today—the thing at the session, calling Pat’s mom—he’s really going above and beyond. 

He throws the bag in the back and they both get in. Pat lets her head fall back against the headrest and closes her eyes, huffs out a breath. 

“Get everything you need?” Jonny asks.

“Yes. Let’s go home,” Pat says, calmly. She doesn’t want to start this thing here.

“Okay,” he says, nervous edge to his voice, and starts the car.

 

* * *

 

As they get closer to home, Pat can feel the tension growing in the air. She’s still got her eyes closed, trying to remain calm and settle herself down before they have to talk, so she can’t see him, but she doesn’t have to see him to know that his mind is probably in overdrive right now. His usual calm control had started to fray before they left, and Pat can tell he’s only riding closer to the edge now. She knows he can’t stand being kept in the dark like this, but Pat can’t help it…

The next thing she knows, he’s pulling into the drive, and it’s officially go-time. Pat feels frantic, overwhelmed; she doesn’t want to do this, but there’s no escaping now. _Time to let it go_ , she thinks, as they both head inside.

Jonny tosses his keys on the counter and then turns to Pat, looking as overwhelmed as Pat feels. Doing this right here in the kitchen, then, Pat guesses.

“Pat, I hope you’re ready to talk because we’re doing it right now,” he says, captain voice on. Pat idly wonders if her mother told him to play ‘bad cop’ with her, make her talk. A bitter-sounding laugh escapes her at the thought, even though this isn’t the appropriate time for that…She’s feeling a little hysterical, honestly, and decides to let her anger take over. She’s less likely to cry that way.

“Yeah, I’m ready to talk, Jonathan, about you calling my _mother_! About what happened at that fucking _session_ ,” Pat says, letting a bit of the bitterness she feels leak into her voice. “I can’t believe you told her. I wasn’t ready to do that!—we’re lucky she’s not on a plane headed here right now!" 

“I wish she was! Maybe she could actually pull something out of you!” he half-shouts back, throwing his arms up in exasperation. He drags a hand through his hair, then brings it down a little forcefully on the counter. Pat winces. “I _am_ sorry for the session, Pat—I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. I didn’t plan to do that—and calling your mom. I _had to_ , Pat. You didn’t give me any other options. You won’t talk to me—you’re just holding everything in, I know it! And I want to help you, God—that’s all I want!”

Something inside of her snaps—she’s losing her grasp on the other shoe. “What do you want me to say, Jonny?” she starts. “That this has fucked everything up? That I’m afraid to start crying because I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop?” Pat yells, gasping out a breath at the end. 

He takes a tentative step toward her, pain showing on his face. “If that’s what you’re feeling, Pat, yes, that’s _exactly_ what I want. You—you don’t have to hold onto that shit by yourself. I am _here_ , right here, in this with you. It’s okay to—to cry,” he finishes, voice softer now.

“But how can I, Jonny? How can I when we didn’t even _know_? When we didn’t even want him!” she sobs out, realizing her mistake at the last second. She’d said ‘him.’ She looks at Jonny and his eyes are wide. 

“I—” she continues, tears spilling over now “—I didn’t mean to say that. I just—I just imagined it would have been a boy,” she chokes out. 

He moves to her now, grabbing her hard and wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t say that, Pat—just because we didn’t know about the baby doesn’t mean we didn’t—wouldn’t have wanted him…or her,” he adds, voice small. He kisses her hair, then continues quietly,  “That’s what I imagined—that it was a girl, just like you.” Pat collapses into his arms—the floodgates have opened now.

“I just..I—I never wanted that, wanted kids, ever,” she says. “But now, I just feel so guilty for ever thinking I wouldn’t want—how could I not love someone that was half you—part of you, Jonny? That was _ours_? I—I lost _your_ baby, Jonny— _our baby_ ,” she sobs, hysterical. And there it is.

Pat feels her stomach heave, knows she’s going to be sick. She wrenches herself from his arms and rushes to the bathroom, making it just in time before she loses it. He comes in behind her, crouches down at her side and gently scoops her hair off her neck and out of the way. He rubs her back, whispers variations of ‘I’m so sorry, baby,’ ‘we’re going to get through this,’ ‘I’m right here,’ over and over. She can hear him sniffling, knows he’s crying—that he’s hurting too— and that only makes it worse. She’s been so focused on keeping her feelings in that she didn’t even consider the fact that she was forcing Jon to keep his in too—she’s left him to do this alone.

When her stomach is empty and only the pit is left, Jonny picks her up off the floor, cradling her in his arms, and moves them to the couch.

“I’m sorry, Jonny,” she moans out into his chest, over and over. “So sorry for—for all of it.”  
Pat can barely breathe, just holds onto him as tight as she can, hands fisting in his shirt, soaking it with tears

“Oh, Pat, no, don’t apologize—this isn’t your fault. None of it—none of it is your fault.” He sniffs, trying to get himself together, and rubs her back, kisses her hair. “I swear we’re going to be okay, we’ll get past this, figure everything out—just…don’t ever feel like you have to do it alone,” he says, rocking her back and forth. She sobs hard again. “Shhhh, Pat—it’s okay, baby. I love you so much,” he says soothingly.

He moves them so they’re lying down, and Pat wraps herself around him, focuses all her energy on what’s right in front of her—on Jonny. He’s the most important thing to her; he’s _everything._ She tells him so, words jumbled with tears, and he just squeezes her tighter, rubs soothing circles on her back.

Pat attempts to calm herself, tries to sync her breathing with his—that always helps.

 

After a while—Pat’s got no idea how long—she gets her sobbing under control, leaving only a light stream of tears until she’s finally all cried out. They don’t move, though—just stay there, wrapped up in each other, quiet. Pat still feels almost relieved, and she knows she’s endured the worst of this—doesn’t feel that other shoe hanging over her head anymore because she sobbed it out. She’s ready to have a real conversation with Jonny about this, like a human being instead of a blubbering mess.

Pat turns her head and leans up to press a kiss to Jonny’s jaw. Then her stomach growls, breaking the silence. Jonny chuckles a little.

“Want pizza?” he asks, kissing her hair. “I can heat up leftovers.” 

“Yeah, Jon, that’d be great,” Pat says, realizing how hungry she is all of a sudden. He gets up and heads to the kitchen, and Pat can’t stand to be away from him right now, so she gets up to follow.

She comes around the counter in behind Jonny while he’s fiddling with the oven. He turns to her, puts his hands on her waist, and lifts her up to the counter. He pushes in close, settling between her legs, and wraps his arms around her, lays his head on her chest.

She reaches up, sinks her fingers in his hair, massaging a bit, loves how she can feel the tension melt from him.

“Pat,” Jonny starts, hesitant. She grabs his face and pulls his head back to make him look at her.

“Yeah, Jon?” Pat asks.

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” he asks. “And—”

“Jonny, ‘course I know that, baby,” she says, interrupting him. “I’ve never—” _doubted that_ , she starts to say, but he reaches up and places a finger over her lips, silencing her. 

“Wait,” he says, “That was a rhetorical question. Let me get this out.” Pat smiles a little and nods. She knows there’s a speech coming—they don’t come often, so it’s important to listen.

He takes a deep breath and continues, “I don’t think this needs to be said, but I just need you to _know_ , without a doubt, that I’m in this for the long haul. I don’t ever want to be without you—I can’t be. And what happened was _terrible_ , and I’d do _anything_ to change it for you, Pat—for us, for the..baby, because we would have—” He pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. “—you would be a great mom. But it’s okay if that’s not something you want. I swear, we can have no kids or ten, it doesn’t matter to me—And I don’t know what you think about that, I know this has confused things for you. But as long as I’ve got you, got _this,_ ” he says, tightening his hands on her hips for emphasis, “it’ll always, _always_ be enough. And we’ve got time to figure it out, yeah?” he says, searching her eyes, voice strong and steady. 

Pat feels tears of another kind trickling down her cheeks now, and Jonny reaches up to take her face in his hands, wipe them away with his thumbs. She leans in, places a soft kiss to his lips, then pulls back to look at him.

“We’ve got forever, Jonny.” And she means it, wants him forever—no matter what.

He smiles Pat’s favorite shy smile and says, “I like the sound of that.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**_Two years later…_ **

 

“ _Oh my God_ , Jonny, please, _please_ , hurry up!” Pat cries from her place on the couch, breathing in her nose, out her mouth, like she’s been coached.

“I’m sorry, I’m hurrying—I’m sorry!” he replies frantically, running down the stairs, overnight bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Did you—” Pat starts, then feels another one coming on and wails, “Owwww, Jonnnnny, fuck fuck _fuckkkk_!” He’s leaned over her now, patting her forehead with a cool washcloth—he’s a fucking saint.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, soothingly. She hears the panic beneath the surface, though; he’s not fooling her. He grabs her arms to help her up.

“Fuck you, you _know_! This is _awful_!" she snaps, holding onto him as she waddles toward the door. “Ah—shit—I didn’t mean that, Jon,” she whines…She can’t even think straight. He only chuckles in response, leaning to kiss her hair.

Suddenly she remembers what she was trying to ask a second ago and stops, turning to him. This is important.

“Wait, d—did you get the—ow, fuck—the Hawks onesie, off the dresser?” she chokes out.

“’Course I did, Pat,” Jonny assures her. He’s got his game face on. “C’mon,” he says, urging her forward, focused on getting them out of the house. She hesitates and looks up at him—into those beautiful, dark eyes, and she’s overcome with emotion.

“Jonny,” she says, trying to breathe in and out slowly.

“What, babe? I’ve got everything—you know I’m going to take care of you,” he says, nervously, with a hint of agitation, like how dare Pat question his ability to get things done right now. He searches her face, clearly about to lose it because she’s keeping him from carrying out their established plan.

“Take care of _us_ , Jonny. He’s _here_ —he’s _finally_ coming,” she says, wonder in her voice, eyes filling with tears, just beaming at him. She’s never felt so much pain and so much joy in a single moment of her life up to this point. His eyes soften and he reaches up with one hand to grasp the back of Pat’s neck, bringing their foreheads together, and down with his other to splay his hand across her belly.

“I know, baby, I know. _Finally_ ,” he says back, and takes a deep, steadying breath. Pat can feel that he’s just as overwhelmed as her. “I love you— _both_ of you—so fucking much.”

“We love you more,” she responds, bringing her hand up to rest it on Jonny’s on her stomach. They feel a little nudge from within. Pat pulls back to look at him. “See, baby agrees!” she says, smiling brightly again.

He kisses her forehead. “Let’s go get him outta there, eh?”

Pat laughs, then sucks in a breath—another contraction. “Ahh, _shit_ —yeah, Jonny, let’s go,” she says, and lets him guide her to the car.

When they return to this house, it won’t just be the two of them anymore. Their _son_ is coming.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

**_Three years later…_ **

 

The United Center is empty, calm and quiet—no roar of the crowd, no skates on the ice. There’s no game today, no practice; they’re here for something else, something more important than that.

Pat’s walking down the tunnel now, Jonny at her side, and they’re each holding onto a tiny little gloved hand between them—their son’s. Today will be his first time on the ice, and she can feel him vibrating with excitement.

She looks over at Jonny, sees him beaming with pride before they’ve even made it out there, and Pat feels like her heart could literally burst from her chest.

When they make it to the end, the ice just a step over the boards away, Jonny crouches down to get on his level. “You ready, buddy?” Jonny asks, so happy, so enthusiastic.   

“Daddy, not _buddy_ ,” he answers seriously. “I’m Patrick Bryan Kane Toews, hockey player—see!” he finishes, letting go of Pat’s hand to turn around and motion towards the name on his back. Pat thinks back to earlier when they were getting ready in the locker room and giggles.

Patrick had _insisted_ on being fully geared up, and when Jonny pulled out his new sweater with ‘P. Toews’ stitched across the back, Patrick’s mouth fell open in surprise. He took it in his little hands and touched his name, ran his fingers over the letters and the ‘19’ on the back, before flipping it over to see the ‘C’ on the front. “Just like yours, Daddy,” he said excitedly, holding his arms up so Jonny could put it on him.

“Yep, just like mine,” Jonny’d said. “Except that one has _your_ name on it. P. Toews, for Patrick Toews,” he added, tickling his sides. Patrick giggled a little in response and then put his game face on—or his Jonny-face, as Pat likes to tease—and then put on his helmet, mess of blond curls sticking out everywhere, ready to go. So fucking cute, God.

Long story short, Patrick’s only three and a half, but he’s obviously taking this _very_ seriously—like someone _else_ Pat knows. _At least he’s getting it honest_ , she thinks, and chuckles again. Jonny's far from 'captain serious' now, but he's still got that intensity for the game, that unbreakable focus.

He looks up at her from his crouched position, already knows what she’s thinking, and gives Pat her new favorite smile; the one he reserves for all things Patrick—still kind of shy, in awe of him almost, and so, so proud.

Pat is going to cry today and that’s the beginning and the end of it. 

“Yeah, I hear you, Patrick Toews, hockey player,” Jonny says, standing to scoop Patrick up in his arms, careful of his skate blades, of course, and blow a raspberry on his cheek. Pat knows Jon’s beside himself about Patrick taking to hockey this way, that he wants to take it seriously, but today is about having fun—he’s three for God’s sake.

Finally, Jonny puts him down and helps him step out onto the ice, Pat following close behind them. He holds Patrick’s hands at first, just pulls him around, letting him adjust to the ice.

After a while, he gets his feet under him and wants to try on his own. There’s a lot of falling—which is to be expected for his first time—but eventually he starts to get it going a little. Skating a little farther each time before he winds up on his rear.

“Mama, do you see me!? Are you watching?” Patrick shrieks during a particularly long stint on his feet, too focused on what he’s doing to actually look at her, but Pat can tell he’s ecstatic.

“Yeah, baby, ‘course I’m watching,” Pat says back with a laugh. “You’re doing so well—you’ll be outskating your daddy before you know it!”

Jonny shoots her a look and clutches his chest in mock-hurt. He skates over to her then, coming in behind to wrap his arms around her waist, hooks his chin over her shoulder, and they just watch Patrick for a minute, slowly scooting around the ice, trying to get a handle on this thing. 

“What you thinkin’, Mama?” Jonny asks, kissing her cheek. 

“That you’re the absolute best father, and we’ve got the _greatest_ kid—just look at him, Jonny. He loves it,” Pat answers, so much happiness and pride in her voice, getting a little choked up. He ducks his face into her neck, shy of the praise as always, and maybe a little overcome himself. 

“Our boy,” he whispers. He places a kiss under her ear and mumbles against her skin, “Love you, baby.”

“Love you _more_ , Jonny,” she says back, as always—and it’s never been more true.

She nudges him back over to Patrick and skates to the boards, hopping up to sit down and watch her world skate around in front of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL THERE'S THAT. IT IS FINISHED. 
> 
> If you've made it this far, THANK YOU! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Please, let me know what you thought! Feedback is WELCOME & APPRECIATED. 
> 
> BIG thanks to amandaj, as always, for being my second reader on this. Her help was invaluable to me during this process.

**Author's Note:**

> (This is my first fic ever in life, so please be gentle.)
> 
> Feedback is welcome & encouraged.
> 
> Come find me on the tumblr @ [toewsme88](http://toewsme1988.tumblr.com).


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